Today  and  Tomorrow 

By   Gerald   Massey 

-PCS  that  burn  like   stars  sublime 
Go  down  in  the  skies  of  Freedom; 
•.us  hearts   perish    in   the   time 
'era. 

and  say 
I   sorrow," 
ay — 
Tho  promised  la:;u  tomorrow. 

Dur  birds   of   sons  are   silent  now; 

There  are  no  flowers  blooming; 
But  life  burns  in  the  frozen  bough 

And   Freedom's    spring-  is    coming! 
^nd   Freedom's  tide  comes  up  alway. 

Although   we   strand    in   sorrow. 

\--nd  our  good  bark — aground  today, 

II  float  again  tomorrov.-! 

>,    all   the  Ion?  dark   nisht  of  years 
•censed, 

•>od  rind  tears 
ended. 

\-   i-\i^l\   not    •"••T-evpr  sway — 

iv   toil  in   sorrow — • 
:rs  cf  Hell    t:.re  rtrong  todav, 
Christ  shall  rise  tomorrow! 

["hough  hearts  brood  o'er  the  past,  our  eyes 

"VYith  smiling  futures  glisten, 
lio!   now   the   day  bursts   up  the  skies — 

Lean   out  your   souls    and   listen! 
rhe  world   rolls    Freedom's   radiant  way, 

And  ripens  with  our  sorrow: 
£eep  heart!    who   bears   the    cross   today 

Shall  wear  the  crown  tomorrow! 

D  Youth!  flame  earnest;  still  asplra 

"With  energies  immortal; 
Po   many  a  heaven   of  desire 

Our  yearning  opes  a  portal, 
\.nrl  though  As;e  wearies  by  the  way, 

hearts  break   in  the  furrow, 
iVo'll   sow  the   golden   grain  today — 

The  harvest  comes  tomorrow! 
3ui',d  "I*  horolc   lives,    and   all 

Be  like   the  sheathen  sabre, 
^eady   to   flash    out   at   God's  command— 

O  chivalry  of  labor! 


Triumph   and  Toil  are  twins— and   aye 
Joy  suns  the  cloud  of  sorrow — 

And  'tis  the  martyrdom  today 
Brings  victory  tomorrow! 


LIBRAR 

UNIV; 

CAI 


GBHALD  MASSEY  ,  born  at  Gamble  Wharf, 
near  Tring  ,  May  29,  1828.  Twice  mar- 
ried. Lived  at  Redcot  ,  46  South 
Norwood  Hill  ,  Surrey.  Died  there  , 
October  29  ,  1907. 


••  '  . 


'O,  Lay  Thy  Hand  In  Mine,  Dear" 

/"\     LAY  thy  hand  in  mine,  dear ! 
^"^}         We're  growing  old; 
But  Time  hath  brought  no  sign,  dear ; 

That  hearts  grow  cold. 
Tis  long,  long  since  our  new  love 

Made  life  divine : 
But  age  enricheth  true  love, 
Like  noble  wine. 


3 


And  lay  thy  cheek  to  mine,  dear, 

And  take  thy  rest ; 
Mine  arms  around  thee  twine,  dear, 

And  make  thy  nest. 
A  many  cares  are  pressing 

On  this  dear  head  ; 
But  Sorrow's  hands  in  blessing 

Are  surely  laid. 

O,  lean  thy  life  on  mine,  dear ! 

'Twill  shelter  thee. 
Thou  wert  a  winsome  vine,  dear, 

On  my  young  tree  : 
And  so,  till  boughs  are  leafless, 

And  songbirds  flown, 
We'll  twine,  then  :lay  us,  griefless, 

Together  down. 

— Gerald  Massey 


ALE  OF  EfiiTERNITY 


AND  OTHER  POEMS. 


GERALD    MASSEY. 


BOSTON: 
FIELDS,   OSGOOD,   &   CO. 

I  870. 


LOOKING  INTO  THE  FUTURE 

By  •Gerald  Massey. 
O,  nerer  sit  we  down  and  say 

There's  nothing  left  but  sorrowt 
W*  walU  tlip  wilderness  today, 

The  promised  land  tomorrow. 

And  though  age  wearies  by  the  way,     . 

And  hearts  break  In  the  furrow, 
We'll  sow  tlio  golden  grain  today, 

And  harvest  comes  tomorrow. 

Build  op  heroic  lives,  and  an 

Be  like  a  sheathen  saber, 
Ready  to  flash  out  at  God's  caQ, 

O  chivalry  of  laborl 

Trlnmph  and  toll  are  twins;  and  ay* 
Joy  wins  the  oloud  of  sorrow; 

And  'tis  the  mfirtyrrlom   today 
Brings  victory   tomorrow. 


ATJTHOB'S  EDITION, 
From    Advance   Sheets. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


co  co  c»  <o  to  cj  10 

rH  C\J  C2  to  tO  tO 


tO  H  tOH  W  to  tOW  C2 


o 

fn 

o 


€ 


)  02 

+3 
O 


-p 

•a 


I 

02 
•H 

£ 

4> 


0-P 
O 


d  0 


4> 
M 

d 
+> 

03 

d 
^5 

4-» 
•H 

£ 

•d 
4) 

O  £3 
<L>   <i> 


U) 
•H 


a; 


M 


0) 


o  o  O'd  ,S 


0) 

> 

•H 

to 
o 

4* 

<D 

CQ 
3 

B 

(1) 

,£ 
4-> 

^1 
4^> 

d 
^ 

JH 
O 


0) 


O  «)    O  4-> 

H  e$3 

C    03 


d 

(D 
•O 


M 


O 

O  4-5 
05  d 
(D  4-> 


{>-H-H 

C 


02   0) 


G) 
H 
4-> 

w 

-H 


3  O-P 
O       -P 


r^ 

• 


«) 


fl 

3 


o 

H    I 


MM  M 


o  d  o  «H  o 


P, 
<J 


<n  *d  o 

^J    g    tQ 

d  d 

<D          G) 
^     *  £t 

+>          020.. 

•H  ^J    •  d 
£j  -p  w  <u 

£H    ^S 
O    O 

•H  •Hr-i 

d  >> 
^H  d 
'd 

O    fj 

CQ  3       co 

CO    CJ   Co  JH 
(D  0)   0)  O 

C  {4   P«H  O 


OtG)    O    O 
M  A  H 
03        4-> 

O-H    C 


£ 


<D 

d 

UD 


o 
o 


Th 
W« 
Thi 

And 
An. 

We'll 
And 

Build 
Be  1 

Ready 
O  cl 


Joy  t 

And  't 

Bring 


CONTE  NTS 


Page 

RHYME  for  the  Reader  v 

A  Tale  of  Eternity 1 

The  Aryan  Mother 94 

Havelock's  March 94 

The  Revolt 95 

The  Avengers 99 

Cawnpore 108 

The  Relief 112 

Death  of  Havelock 121 

In  Memoriam      ........  131 

Carmina  Nuptialia 145 

Wedded  Love 147 

The  Wedding .148 

Serenade 151 

Arguing  in  a  Circle 152 

An  April  Wedding 153 

Leave-Taking 154 

As  They  Passed 154 

Evoe 155 

A  Fact  that  Flowers  Double 156 

A  Wayside  Whisper 15T 

The  Welcome  Home 159 


iv  CONTENTS. 

The  Bonny  Brideland  Flower 162 

A  Lover's  Song 163 

The  Married  Life 164 

Via  Crucis  Via  Lucis 165 

An  Orphan  Family's  Christmas 178 

Lady  Marian 206 

An  Old  Man-o'-war's-man  Yarn         .  "    .        .       .  212 

Old  King  Hake 220 

Garibaldi 227 

One  of  Garibaldi's  Men 232 

Garibaldi  at  Aspromente    .        .       .        .       .        .  236 

A  Letter  in  Black 241 

Widow  Margaret 249 

HYMNS,  AND  OTHEK  LYRICS. 

At  Eventide 259 

Out  of  the  Depths 261 

Jerusalem  the  Golden 2G2 

The  Only  One 284 

The  Nest 206 

Poor  Man's  Sunday     .                       ....  267 
The  Light  of  the  World  ....                        .269 

Going  to  School    ...'...                .  270 

Parents'  Prayer  for  the  Children 272 

Children's  Evening  Prayer 273 

And  They  sung  a  New  Song 275 

The  Aspen 276 

Legend  of  the  Flowers 278 

Legend  of  Little  Pearl 282 

Poor  Ellen 234, 


CONTENTS.  v 

The  Sunken  City 286 

The  Life  Beyond      .       . 288 

In  a  Dream 290 

A  Cry  in  the  Night 291 

A  Song  in  the  Morning 293 

His  Banner  over  Me 294 

The  Two  Heavens 295 

How  it  Seems  .  ...  .295 


Albert  the  Good 297 

Cousin  Winnie 305 

A  Winter's  Tale  for  the  Little  Ones         ....  811 

William  Makepeace  Thackeray 321 

A  Royal  Wedding  Chime 326 

Pictures  in  the  Fire 335 

Prideaux  at  Magdala 342 

SONGS,  AND  OTHER  BREVITIES. 

Sylvia  May .344 

Parting 345 

Old  Friends 848 

Autumn  Song 347 

Sonnet 348 

Heigh-ho! 349 

Love's  Westward  Ho  ! 350 

Home  Song 351 

Epigram 353 

Sea-Song 354 

The  White  Child 355 

Children  at  Play 857 


vi  CONTENTS. 

Sleep-Walking 
An  Apologue 
The  Glow-Worm 

My  Neighbor       . 

•        •        «        362 

A  Poet's  Love-Letter 


A   RHYME   FOR   THE    READER. 


SINGER  sang  in  sleep,  and,  sleeping, 

dreamed 
He   sang   divinely,  while   his     spirit 

seemed 

So  far  in  Music's  heaven  to  soar  and  sing, 
They  could  not  follow  who  stood  listening  ! 
For  him,  the  soul  of  sweetness  found  a  voice. 
For  them,  the  Singer  only  "  made  a  noise." 

Such  is  the  difference  in  the  uttered  strain, 

From  that  fine  music  passing  through  the  brain. 

Such  sumless  treasures  we  possess  in  dreams, 

To  find  at  waking  only  mirrored  gleams. 

No  revelation  of  the  written  word 

Will  render  all  the  spirit  saw  and  heard. 

So  fresh  they  breathed  ;  so  faded  now  they  look ; 
My  few  poor  withered  flowers  shut  in  a  book. 
Gone  is  the  glory  that  once  gleamed  from  them  ; 
The  Spirit  of  Light  imprisoned  in  the  gem  ! 
Now  the  winged  life  hath  settled  down  in  words, 
These  are  but  stuffed  instead  of  Singing  Birds. 

Feelings  brimful  of  warmth  as  is  a  rose 

Of  its  June-red,  have  lost  their  perfumed  glows ; 


viii       A  RHYME  FOR   THE  READER. 

The  heaven-revealing  thoughts  that  star-like  shone, 
The  daily  kindlings  of  eternal  dawn,  — 
All  darkened  down,  like  Meteors  that  have  birth 
In  Heaven,  to  flash  and  quench  them  cold  in  earth. 

We  grasp  at  diamonds  visible  in  the  dew, 
And  open  empty  tear-wet  hands  to  you  ! 
We  clasp  at  heart  the  daughters  of  the  skies, 
Their  shadow  stays  with  us  ;  the  substance  flies. 
Glimpses  divine  will  peep ;  pictures  will  pass, 
And  leave  no  likeness  on  the  Seer's  glass. 

The  Poet's  best  immortally  will  lurk 
In  that  rare  motion  of  his  soul  at  work. 
Bee-like,  he  brings  you  one  gold  honey-drop  ; 
But  the  full-swing,  high  on  the  flower-top, 
'Twixt  Heaven  that  rained  itself  in  sweetness  down, 
And  Earth  —  all  bloom  for  him  —  is  ne'er  made 
known. 

MY  poem  was  in  the  making.     These  are  your 
Warmth-needy  nurslings,  Reader !    mine  no  more. 
The  life  I  gave  will  no  more  fill  my  breast 
Than  the  flown  birds  come  back  to  last  year's  nest. 
And  if  these  live  again,  't  is  you  must  give 
The  reflex  thrill  to  them  by  which  they  live. 

You  must  make  out  the  music  from  the  hint 

Prelusive :  I  but  tune  the  instrument. 

The  glory  or  the  gladness  or  the  grace 

Must  shine  for  me  re-orient  in  your  face. 

The  seed,  that  in  my  life  took  secret  root, 

In  yours  must  bud,  and  flower,  and  bear  the  fruit. 


A    TALE   OF   ETERNITY, 


"  Among  the  rest,  a  small  unsightly  root, 
But  of  divine  effect,  he  culled  me  out ; 
The  leaf  was  darkish,  and  had  prickles  on  it, 
But  in  another  country,  as  he  said, 
Bore  a  bright  golden  flower."  —  MILTON. 


"  Now  a  thing  was  secretly  brought  to  me,  and  mine  ear  re- 
ceived a  little  thereof,  in  visions  of  the  night,  when  deep  sleep 
falleth  on  men,  fear  came  upon  me,  and  trembling ;  then  a 
spirit  passed  before  my  face  and  the  hair  of  my  flesh  stood 
up :  an  image  was  before  mine  eyes  j  there  was  silence,  and  I 
heard  a  voice." — BOOK  OP  JOB. 


"  He  maketh  His  angels  spirits  ;  His  ministers  a  flaming 
fire."  —  PSALMS  OP  DAVID. 


"  Millions  of  spiritual  creatures  walk  the  earth 
Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep." 

MILTON. 

11 1  've  seen  some  men,  veracious,  nowise  mad, 
Who  have  thought  or  dreamed,  declared  and  testified 
They  heard  the  Dead  a-ticking  like  a  clock 
Which  strikes  the  hours  of  the  eternities, 
Beside  them,  with  their  natural  ears,  — and  known 
That  human  spirits  feel  the  human  way 
And  hate  the  unreasoning  awe  which  waves  them  off 
From  possible  communion.    It  may  be." 

MRS.  BROWNING. 


A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 


S  One  who,  in  a  strange  and  far  Country, 
In  presence  of  his  future  Bride  may  be, 
That  keeps  the  secret  of  her  face  con- 
cealed, 

Until,  as  Wife,  the  Maiden  stands  revealed : 
And  who  doth  make  blind  guesses  at  the  face ; 
Its  wealth  of  nature  and  its  gifts  of  grace  : 
Much  marvelling  if  the  form  beneath  the  folds 
Be  like  the  picture  that  at  .heart  he  holds  : 
And  who,  as  chance  befall,  doth  furtively 
Feel  the  hid  features  that  he  may  not  see  — 
Trying  to  gather,  at  a  Lover's  touch,  - 
The  least  of  all  he  longs  to  know  so  much  : 
Even  thus,  before  the  Next  World's  face  I  stand, 
And  o'er  its  clouded  features  pass  my  hand ; 
Groping  to  get  where  mortal  sight  doth  fail, 
Some  inkling  of  the  face  behind  the  Veil ! 
It  is  the  voice  of  Vision  in  the  night : 
I  learned  in  darkness  what  I  speak  in  light. 


4  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

Perchance  such  ne'er  attains  the  perfect  True 
And  yet  may  utter  meaning  for  the  few, 
As  sandiest  desert  wastes  reflect  afar 
Light  from  our  Sun  to  some  benighted  Star ! 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 


PART    I. 

jlGHT  after  night  I  wakened  with  a  start ; 
The  coldness  of   a  gravestone  at  my 

heart ; 
As  though  I  had  been  nearly  caught  by 

Death 

Who  imaged  Sleep  to  kiss  away  my  breath ! 
The  silence  lookt  so  ominous,  the  gloom 
Just  losing  shape  and  feature  in  the  room. 
Had  I  but  wakened  sooner,  without  doubt, 
I  should  have  found  some  dreadful  secret  out. 
Nothing  to  grapple  with  ;  nothing  to  see ; 
Yet  something  fearful  there  must  somewhere  be ; 
Grim  shadows  grew  from  out  their  hiding-nook ; 
A  strange  life  lurked  in  the  familiar  look 
Of  innocent  things,  as  though  upon  the  eve 
Of  issuing,  terrible  as  its  prey  perceive 
The  Mantis  in  the  likeness  of  a  leaf, 
Changed  in  a  moment  to  a  Murderous  Thief. 
I  peered  out  of  the  window,  nothing  there 
But  the  vast  heavens  with  all  their  loneness  bare — 
The  phantom  presence  of  Immensity 
That  from  behind  its  dumb  mask  whispered  me; 


6  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

At  times  a  noise,  as  though  a  dungeon  door 

Had  grated,  with  set  teeth,  against  the  floor : 

A  ring  of  iron  on  the  stones  ;  a  sound 

As  if  of  granite  into  powder  ground ; 

A  pickaxe  and  a  spade  at  work !  sad  sighs 

As  of  a  wave  that  sobs  and  faints  and  dies. 

And  then  a  shudder  of  the  house  ;  a  scrawl 

As  though  a  knife  scored  letters  in  the  wall. 

About  the  room  a  gush  and  gurgle  went, 

As  if  the  water-pipe  got  sudden  vent ; 

Drop  after  drop,  I  heard  it  plop,  and  ping, 

Into  some  vessel  with  metallic  ring. 

Yet,  on  these  very  nights  there  was  no  rain  ! 

And  then,  betwixt  the  ear's  suspense  and  strain, 

A  faint  voice  crying  in  the  air  or  brain. 

The  wind  would  rise  and  wail  most  humanly 
With  a  low  scream  of  stifled  agony 
Over  the  birth  of  life  about  to  be. 
Through  all  the  house  its  coldest  wave  hath  rusht, 
Although  a  moment  since  the  night  was  husht. 
And  ere  the  hurried  gust  had  ceased  to  moan, 
The  dreaming  dog  would  answer  with  a  groan. 
On  nights  of  wind  and  rain  the  sounds  were  worst; 
More  live  the  portent  the  black  midnight  hearst. 

At  times  T  seemed  to  waken  at  a  call 

And  rose  -p  listening  for  the  next  footfall      * 


A  T.ALE  OF  ETERNITY.  7 

Which  never  came,  as  though  it  could  not  keep 
The  step  with  that  my  spirit  caught  in  sleep, 
For  I,  in  waking,  must  have  crossed  the  line 
Bounding  the'  range  of  spirit-life  from  mine. 
I  felt  the  Presence  on  that  other  side 
Grope  where  some  secret  door  might  open  wide. 
I  knew  the  brain  might  strike  the  electric  spark 
Which  should  make  live  this  phantom  of  the  Dark. 
Once  as  I  woke  I  could  have  sworn  I  saw 
A  white  face  from  the  window-pane  withdraw ! 
But,  softly  in  its  place  the  curtain  slid, 
Even  in  the  uplifting  of  the  swift  eyelid. 

Sometimes  I  woke  with  lashes  wet  and  bright 
With  a  strange  glory  of  delicious  light, 
As  though  an  Angel  had  shone  my  shut  eyes  through 
And  filled  my  soul  with  heaven,  as  Dawn  the  dew : 
A  fragrance  from  afar  with  me  would  stay 
And  at  my  work  my  heart  sang  all  next  day. 

I  am  no  Coward ;  never  could  believe 
That  spirits  do  their  hell  or  heaven  leave 
To  walk  by  night  in  the  old  human  ways. 
For  forty  years  this  was  my  creed  o'  days. 
Somehow  the  dark  another  tale  doth  tell : 
We  are  so  fearful  of  the  Unfathomable ! 
The  Infinite  is  full  of  whisperings ; 
With  mortal  tug  the  wildered  spirit  clings 


8  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

To  its  known  shore  of  firm  reality, 
Yet  feels  drawn  outward  —  like  the  ebbing  sea 
That  hugs  its  beach  so  closely  and  in  Tain  — 
In  this  vast  ebb  of  Being  to  its  main. 

And  it  is  eerie  in  the  night  to  lie 
Lonesome,  all  naked  to  the  awful  sky  — 
This  secret  spawning-time  of  hell  on  earth 
When  mist  and  midnight  give  the  toad-stools  birth, 
And  worlds  of  shy  leaf-shadowed  life  steal  forth,  — 
What  time  the  Powers  of  Darkness  have  their  day  ; 
Our  world  asleep  and  Heaven  so  far  away : 
When  in  the  shroud-like  stillness  there  may  be 
Shapes  moving  round  us  that  we  do  not  see ! 

Our  little  sphere  of  life  is  darkly  rimmed 
In  the  wide  universe  of  Being  brimmed 
With  life  perhaps  inimical  to  us  ! 
Nor  could  we  live  if  all  were  luminous. 
But  is  it  certain  we  have  lost  the  sight 
They  had  of  old  in  watches  of  the  night, 
Who  heard  the  voices,  saw  the  shape  that  stood 
Before  them  in  God's  own  similitude  ? 
They  saw  with  eyes  of  spirit  —  Heaven  keep 
The  veil  of  flesh  about  me  dark  and  deep ! 

What  does  the  Darkness  mutter  ?     Is  it  Death 
That  makes  the  light  burn  bluer  with  his  breath  ? 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  9 

Was  that  a  creaking  of  the  stair  ?  a  Rat 
Nibbling  the  wainscot  7  did  a  flittering  Bat 
Flap  at  the  window  ?     Floors  will  crack  for  sure, 
But  may  not  unseen  feet  be  on  the  floor  ? 
Spirits  stand  rapping  at  Life's  outer  gate, 
And,  if  we  dare  not  open,  will  they  waiti 
Was  that  the  Death- Watch  ticking  in  the  wall  ? 
One's  hair — alive  —  begins  to  coldly  crawl. 
Is  there  some  Whispering-gallery  of  the  ear, 
In  which  the  other  world  we  overhear  ? 
The  very  Mirror  is  a  doorway,  through 
Whose  dark  another  face  may  look  at  you ! 
It  haunts  you,  gliding  as  the  Moonbeams  glide, 
Like  waters  wan  that  counsel  suicide. 

Who  knows  with  what  those  ghostly  gleams  are  rife 

In  spectral  semblance  of  our  sunlit  life  ? 

What  Night  hath  shielded  from  pursuing  Day 

In  sanctuary  darkness,  hid  away, 

As  Paramour  of  hers  in  some  foul  play  ? 

What  viewless  horrors  in  the  wind  may  lurk, 

That  fill  the  mind  with  Shadows  eerie  and  murk ; 

Perhaps  the  Devil  audibly  at  work  ? 

Maybe  the  voices  of  a  sunless  world 

That  in  the  eclipse  of  night  is  doomward  hurled  : 

What  groping  outcasts  of  ignoble  soul 

Are  working  through  the  darkness,  like  the  mole, 

Crouching  in  dreams  to  steal  on  sleeping  Men. 


10  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

Red-handed  spirits  that  flung  life  back  again 
To  Him  who  gave,  and  hide  their  murder-mark,. 
In  any  secret  corner  of  the  dark  : 
What  phantom  shapes  forlorn  may  meet  and  march 
In  long  procession  under  Night's  dark  arch, 
Stretching  their  arms  to  us,  worm-fretted,  all 
Hueless  and  featureless  and  weirdly  tall : 
What  rootless  strays  of  life  are  ever  blown 
About  like  floating  ghosts  of  thistle-down 
That  seek  a  foothold  and  are  whirled  away : 
Dead  leaves  a-dancing  —  vanishing  sea-spray; 
Night-wandering  souls,  without  a  house  or  shore, 
That  roam  life's  border-world  forevermore 
Homeless,  as  drifted  clouds  are  driven  past 
Their  heaven  forever,  by  the  hurrying  blast. 

And  now  we  come  to  think,  may  we  not  hold 

Ghost-hands  in  ours,  that  turn  them  icy  cold  ? 

A  ghostly  presence  whitens  in  the  cheek 

And  makes  the  blood  run  water,  —  wan  and  weak 

The  swooning  life  from  out  us  faintly  fleets, 

And  turns  to  drops  at  the  chill  touch  it  meets. 

The  walls  of  flesh  are  waxing  all  too  thin 

To  keep  the  world  of  spirits  from  crowding  in. 

We  wrap  the  clothes  about  us ;  but,  still  bare 

In  soul,  we  feel  a  wave  of  chillier  air, 

Like  that  which  brings  the  dawn,  but  that  'a  a  breath 

Of  sweet  new  life,  this  hath  an  odor  of  death ! 


A    TALE  OF  ETERNITY.  n 

The  spirit  spiracles  all  open  wide 

And  life  seems  drowning  in  the  flooding  tide ; 

We  cannot  cry,  the  -Unseen  world  doth  strive 

To  seal  the  mouth  and  bury  the  soul  alive. 

I  must  believe  in  Ghosts,  lying  awake 

With  them  o'  nights,  when  flesh  will  pimple  and 

quake, 

And  lustily  one  pulls  the  Bell  of  Prayer, 
From  this  thick  snow  of  spirits  to  clear  the  air. 

No  marvel  that  the  Birds  salute  the  Dawn, 
For  all  the  dangers  of  the  dark  withdrawn  ; 
Break  into  singing  with  their  first  free  breath, 
That  they  have  swum  the  dim,  vast  sea  of  death, 
And  hymn  the  resurrection  of  the  Light, 
In  praise  to  Him  who  kept  them  through  the  night 
And  cared  for  his  least  little  feathered  things, 
Encompassed  with  the  safety  of  His  Wings  ; 
While  those,  that  cannot  warble,  twittering  tell 
Of  darkness  passed  once  more  and  all  is  well. 

With  what  a  thankful  heart  I  've  often  heard 
The  blessed  cry  of  Morning's  earliest  Bird ! 
How  eagerly  watcht  the  weird  and  waning  Night 
Turn  deathly  pale  and  pass  away  in  light. 
Yet,  I  believe  that  God  is  master  still. 
He  reigneth ;  He  whose  lightest  breath  could  thrill 
The  universe  of  worlds  like  drops  of  dew, 


12  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITT. 

And  if  the  Spirit-world  hath  broken  through 

It  cannot  be  unknown,  unseen  by  Him ; 

It  must  be  with  His  will,  not  their  mere  whim. 

And  if  our  world  of  breath  be  set  aflood, 

Swimming  in  supernatural  neighborhood, 

There  is  a  soul  within  will  not  be  drowned, 

Even  though  a  sea  of  spirits  surges  round : 

An  inner  infinite  with  power  to  reach 

The  level  of  its  outer  ocean-beach ! 

Therefore  I  trust  Him  ;  shut  mine  eyes  and  say 

"  Lead  on,  0  Lord,  Thou  only  know'st  the  way  I 

Father  in  Heaven,  take  my  hand  in  Thine ; 

Be  at  my  heart,  and  in  my  countenance  shine. 

Then,  all  unfearing,  shall  I  face  the  gate 

At  which  the  Powers  of  Darkness  lie  in  wait." 


A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  13 


PAET    II. 

I"  NCE  on  a  time,  the  ancient  story  saith, 
Some    foolish     Mummers     danced    a 

masque  of  Death. 
They  bore  his  emblems,  trying,  every 

one, 

To  out-parody  the  bony  Skeleton ; 
And,  as  the  merriment  grew,  there  glided  in 
Grim  Death  Himself,  mocking  with  ghastly  grin 
At  their  poor  make-believe ;  as  who  should  say 
"  This  is  the  real  thing  and  no  mere  play." 

«  Talk  of  the  Devil,"  say  we,  "  and  he  's  here," 
Sudden  as  thunder-claps,  when  skies  are  clear. 

'T  was  thus  all  fears  and  phantoms  of  the  past, 
Shaped  into  something  palpable  at  last. 

One  night,  as  I  lay  musing  on  my  bed, 

The  veil  was  rent  that  shows  the  Dead  not  dead. 

Upon  a  Picture  I  had  fixed  mine  eyes, 
Till  slowly  it  began  to  magnetize. 


I4  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

So  the  Ecstatics  on  their  symbol  stare, 
Until  the  Cross  fades  and  the  Christ  is  there ! 
Thus,  while  I  mused  upon  the  picture's  face, 
A  veil  of  white  mist  wavered  in  its  place ; 
And  to  a  lulling  motion  I  sank  deep, 
With  spirit  awake  and  senses  all  asleep, 
Down  through  an  air  that  palpitatingly 
Breathed  with  a  breath  of  life  unknown  to  me  ; 
And  when  the  motion  ceased,  against  the  gloom, 
There  lived  another  Form  within  the  room, 
Suddenly,  strange  and  horrible,  as  rise 
The  Torturers  that  stare  in  dying  eyes  : 
Or,  as  the  Serpent  —  ere  a  leaf  be  stirred  — 
Looks  through  the  dark  on  some  bewildered  bird  : 
A  face  in  which  the  life  had  burned  away 
To  cinders  of  the  soul  and  ashes  gray  • 
The  forehead  furrowed  with  a  sombre  frown 
That  seemed  the   image,  in   shadow,  of   Death's 

crown ; 

His  look  a  map  of  misery  that  told 
How  all  the  under-world  in  blackness  rolled. 
A  human  face  in  hideous  eclipse  ; 
No  lustre  in  the  hair,  no  life  on  lips  ; 
The  faintest  gleam  of  corpse-light,  lurid,  wan, 
Showed  me  the  lying  likeness  of  a  Man ! 
The  old  soiled  lining  of  some  mortal  dress  : 
A  Spirit  sorely  stained  with  earthiness. 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  ij 

Bat,  almost  ere  I  could  have  time  to  fear, 
I  saw  what  seemed  an  Angel  standing  near, 
With  face  like  His  who  wore  the  old  thorn  crown ; 
In  whose  dear  person  very  Love  came  down. 
And  on  his  face  a  smile  for  my  relief: 
A  dream  of  glory  in  my  night  of  grief, 
Shedding  an  influent  mildness  through  the  awe, 
Pleasant  to  feel,  as  was  the  smile  I  saw  : 
Indeed,  methought  he  breathed  a  fragrance  faint, 
That  overcame  some  rotting  tomby  taint. 
He  wore  a  purple  vesture  thin  as  mist, 
The  Breath  of  Dawn,  upon  the  plum  dew-kissed. 
No  flame-hued,  flame-shaped,  Golden-Holly  tree 
Ere  kindled  at  the  sun  so  splendidly 
As  that  self-radiant  head,  with  lifted  hair 
A-wave  in  many  a  fiery  scimitar. 
We  think  of  Shades  as  native  to  the  night ; 
We  photograph  the  other  world  in  white, 
That  will  not  paint  its  tints  upon  our  sight. 
But  there  are  Colors  of  the  Eternal  Light, 
And  this  was  of  them  ;  pulsing  such  live  glows 
As  never  reddened  blood  or  ripened  rose  : 
No  Mist  from  the  past  life  as  we  have  deemed 
The  Dead  to  be ;  no  pallid  shadow  dreamed 
By  Greeks  of  old,  but  Life  itself  this  seemed. 
And  such  a  light  was  in  the  Angel's  face 
It  made  a  glory  round  about  the  place 
To  see  by  :  as  you  mark  in  the  gold  ray 


16  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

The  Motes  that  dance  invisibly  in  the  gray. 
But,  deep  in  shadow  of  his  inner  night, 
The  Dark  Shape  stood  and  sinned  against   the 
Light. 

As  men  have  felt,  when  earth  rockt  underfoot, 
Their  trust  in  it  was  wrencht  up  by  the  root ; 
The  firm  foundations  of  all  things  had  given, 
And  any  instant  they  might  be  in  heaven : 
As  one  midway  across  a  wide,  white  road, 
In  winter,  when  all  night  the  skies  have  snowed, 
Learns  't  is  not  earth  but  frozen  stream  beneath, 
And  he  is  leaning  on  the  arms  of  Death  : 
So  did  I  feel  to  find  our  earthy  bound 
Of  Substance  was  no  longer  safe  or  sound ; 
That  spirit-springs  make  quicksand  of  firm  ground ; 
That  spirit-hands  withdraw  our  curtains  round ; 
That  spirit  between  particles  can  pass 
Surely  and  visibly,  as  light  through  glass ; 
With  power  to  come  and  go,  stand  upright,  loom 
Dense  to  the  eye,  outlined  against  the  gloom. 

The  Dark  Shape  on  me  turned  its  eyes  of  guile, 
Sullen  yet  fierce.     I  read  the  wicked  smile 
That  sneered  —  "  Behold  the  cause  of  aU  your  fear  t 
You  need  not  shudder  though  while  He  is  near." 
And  then  he  spoke,  or  seemed  to  speak,  in  words, 
Although  I  saw  his  thoughts  like  murderous  swords, 


A    TALE    OF  ETERNITY.  17 

Or  toothed  wheels,  go  whirling  round  within 
The  fearsome  face  so  shadowy  and  thin, 
And  did  not  always  need  the  speech  to  know 
What  dreadful  thing  it  was  he  had  to  show. 

"  Lo  !  I  am  one  of  those  doomed  souls  who  dwell 

In  Heaven's  vast  Shadow  which  the  Good  call  Hell. 

Lo  !  I  am  he,  the  gloomy  sneak,  who  did 

The  deed  of  darkness,  fancying  all  was  hid  : 

The  Awfal  eyes  being  on  me  all  the  while, 

And  Devils  pointing  at  me  with  their  smile. 

I  carry  such  a  hell  within  my  breast, 

That  all  about  me  throbs  with  my  unrest, 

As  though  the  heavens  were  shaken,  or  the  earth 

Were  overtaken  in  the  throes  of  birth ; 

Doors  tremble  open,  walls  disintegrate, 

And  through  the  sense  the  soul  keeps  open  gate  ! 

With  such  a  pulse  of  power  my  pangs  awake 

At  midnight,  that  from  sleep  they  sometimes  shake 

You!     Matter,  with  Mind's  thrillings,  doth  so  quake 

That  atoms  from  their  fellow  atoms  start, 

As  though  they  felt  the  heave  of  some  live  heart." 

Then  seeing  the  questioning  wonder  in  my  look, 
He  answered,  as  my  turn  of  thought  he  took. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,  all  true,  the  thing  you  dreamed; 
Most  real  is  the  life  that  only  seemed. 


18  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

\ 

Sovl  's  no  mere  shadow  that  gross  substance  throws  ; 
Our  passions  are  not'  pageantary  shows, 
Exhaled  from  Matter,  like  the  cloud  from  cape, 
They  are  the  life's  own  lasting  final  shape. 
This  scheme  of  things  with  all  the  sights  you  see, 
Are  only  pictures  of  the  things  that  be. 
What  you  call  Matter  is  but  as  tJie  sheath, 
Shaped,  even  as  bubbles  are,  by  spirit-breath. 
The  mountains  are  but  firmer  clouds  of  earth, 
Still  changing  to  the  breath  that  gave  them  birth. 
Spirit  aye  shapeth  Matter  into  view, 
As  Music  wears  the  forms  it  passes  through.  • 
Spirit  is  lord  of  substance,  Matter's  sole 
First  cause  and  forming  power  and  final  goal." 

And  who  is  this,  I  asked,  that  in  bis  face 

Doth  image  humanly  celestial  grace  ; 

That  calms  my  soul   as  when  the  Moon  looks 

forth, 
Whose  smile  in  heaven  makes   stillness  on   the 

earth  ? 

"  One  of  those  Ministers  who  are  sent  below 
To  walk  the  earth,  patrolling  to  and  fro, 
As  sentinels  on  guard,  night  after  night. 
That  in  the  darkness  make  a  watch-fire  light, 
Lest  sleeping  souls  be  helplessly  surprised 
By  mad  wild  beasts  of  worlds  not  realized." 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  19 

I  lookt,  the  shining  face  serenely  smiled 
Away  all  terror  like  a  thing  beguiled. 

"  One  of  the  dreadful  Angels  of  the  Lord, 

Who  are  his  fiery-flaming  two-edged  sword, 

That  at  each  door  and  window  waves  and  burns 

Until  the  Angel  of  t/ie  Dawn  returns. 

They  are  with  you,  watching  through  the  murkest  hour, 

And  seen,  or  unseen,  hold  us  in  their  power, 

That  when  the  devil  rages  in  us,  la  I 

We  strike  and  strike  and  yet  there  falls  no  blow. 

They  mesmerize  us  standing  there  behind, 

And,  as  in  dreams,  we  struggle  bound  and  blind. 

The  sharpest  tortures  that  I  have  to  bear 

Are  when  I  feel  His  presence  hovering  near. 

A  ray  from  heaven  turns  to  a  sword  in  hell ; 

The  flash  is  maddening,  we  so  darkly  dwell ! 

The  heat  of  heaven  is  like  the  blazing  ring 

Of  fire  that  makes  the  Scorpion  try  to  sting 

Itself  to  death ;  an  air  of  Heaven's  breath 

Is  poison  ;  hell  is  spiritual  death  : 

And  this  awakes  us,  with  its  stir  and  strife, 

Like  tinglings  of  the  drowned  recalled  to  life." 

I  glanced  again  :  I  saw  the  look  arise 
As  of  a  drawn  Sword  in  the  Angel's  eyes. 

"  We  have  met  here  for  years.     He  comes  to  see 
Me  digging  nightly ;  grope  for  my  lost  key ; 


20  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

Gives  me  his  countenance,  and  but  for  him 

I  might  work  hidden  in  the  shadows  dim. 

His  presence  kindles  round  me  such  a  light, 

All  heaven  can  see  me  prowling  through  the  night ; 

All  hell  make  merry  at  the  grewsome  sight. 

"  I  never  told  my  secret  in  your  world 
I  kept  it  at  the  heart  too  closely  curled ; 
There,  at  my  life-springs,  did  I  nestle  and  nurse 
The  hidden  snake,  my  bosom's  clinging  curse, 
My  worm  of  torment  biting  bitterly, 
And  fed  it  fat  for  all  eternity. 
And  no  eye  saw  it  writhe  in  my  white  face, 
Or  heard  it  hiss  in  its  dark  hiding-place, 
When  any  voice  of  secret  murders  told, 
And  in  its  might  it  wantoned  and  grew  bold. 
It  gnawed  my  heart  as  with  hell-Jire  for  years. 
Drink  would  not  drown  it,  nor  a  sea  of  tears 
Quench  it,  nor  all  the  waters  of  the  land 
Whiten  my  soul,  or  wash  my  red  right  hand ! 
Whate'er  I  did  my  heart  with  hell-Jire  burned; 
Mine  eyes  with  redness  swam  where'er  I  turned. 
I  dared  not  slumber  soundly,  lest  asleep 
The  unsleeping  secret  from  my  lips  should  leap 
In  dreams,  and  I  on  waking  might  have  found 
Myself  had  turned  Informer,  and  was  bound 
In  handcuffs,  with  the  accusing  faces  round. 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  21 

"  And  so,  at  last,  I  pricked  the  bubble  of  breath, 
I  plunged  to  hide  me  from  Myself  in  death : 
I  found  the  hell-hole  in  the  wild  whirlpool ; 
Plucked  the  cold  hand  down  on  my  brain  to  cool ; 
I  grovelled  out  my  own  deep  grave ;  I  fell 
Hight  through  it,  into  open  arms  of  helL 

"  I  fancied,  when  I  took  the  headlong  leap, 
That  death  must  be  an  everlasting  sleep  ; 
And  the  white  Winding-sheet  and  green  sod  might 
Shut  out  the  world,  and  I  have  done  with  sight. 
Cold  water  from  my  hand  had  washt  the  warm 
And  crimson  carnage ;  safe  the  little  form 
Lay  underground :  the  tiny  trembling  waif 
Of  life  hid  from  the  light ;  my  secret  safe. 
In  vain.     You  cannot  hide  a  deed  like  this, 
With  all  the  heavens  a  cloud  of  witnesses : 
Useless  to  blot  the  blood  out  with  the  dust, 
When  it  hath  eaten  with  its  ruddy  rust 
Into  your  spirit's  hand,  where,  visibly 
The  murder-stain  leers  through  eternity  I 
Look  there." 

I  lookt  and  saw  what  seemed  a  hand 
Of  blood-stained  shadow,  kindling  like  a  brand 
When  breathed  on  !  it  so  brightened  as  he  sighed ; 
Plucking  it  from  his  breast  where  he  did  hide 
Its  guilty  red. 

"  That  hand  once  gripped  the  knife 


22  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

That  slew  my  child.     This  is  its  ruddy  life, 
Red-hot ;  on  fire  of  hell !     In  burning  rings, 
The  blood  my  fingers  clutcht,  forever  clings, 
And  clamps  them  with  relentless  ache  and  smart 
So  closely  that  they  will  not  pull  apart. 
Once  only,  while  I  wept  and  almost  prayed, 
They  yielded  just  a  little :  then  was  played 
A  trick  of  Demons  on  me ;  all  between, 
They  shone,  thin-webbed  with  gore,  and  clearly  seen 
As  through  a  window,  through  the  web,  there  smiled 
Up  in  my  face  the  face  of  my  dead  child. 
Better  to  bear  this  fiery  grip  of  pain, 
Than  they  should  open  on  that  sight  again. 

"  The  whirling  world  had  fiung  my  life  from  it. 

And  I  felt  falling  through  the  Infinite, 

For  weeks  and  months,  and  years  on  years  of  nights 

Innumerable,  from  stupendous  heights  ; 

For,  as  a  minute's  slumber  may  be  all 

As  one  with  that  of  a  million  years,  my  fall 

So  quickened  being,  that  a  minute's  fears 

Made  instantaneous  a  million  years. 

No  God  to  call  upon,  no  power  to  stay, 

No  hand  to  clutch  at  on  my  endless  way  ! 

When  just  as  I  was  plunging  in  a  cloud 

That  lightened  with  the  laugh  of  Hell  and  showed 

It  made  of  devilish  faces  which  grew  glad 

And  kindled  at  my  coming,  and  all  had 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  2 

A  gap-toothed  wicked  grin,  as  though  each  one 
Saw  in  my  face  the  kindred  of  his  own,  — 
AH  the  dark  host  rejoicing  as  I  came ; 
All  making  sure  as  Marksman  of  his  aim, 
When  lo  !  a  Hawk  swoops  from  its  height  unheard, 
And  from  before  his  gun  bears  off"  his  Bird  ! 
So,  while  their  claws  for  cruel  welcome  spread, 
I  was  caught  up ;  borne  swiftening  overhead, 
By  one  on  wings  of  light,  with  lightning  shod, 
And  then  I  knew  that  I  was  going  to  God ; 
That  life  but  sets  in  life  still  more  profound, 
As  sunset  into  sunrise  the  world  round ; 
That  all  who  enter  by  the  gate  of  breath, 
Must  pass  before  the  Awful  eyes  in  death, 
And  stand  all  naked  to  the  searching  mien. 
I  could  not  shrivel  away  nor  slink  unseen  ! 

"  To  me  the  vast  and  horrible  Unknown 

Was  one  dread  face  and  all  the  face  one  frown  I 

Pain,  sternness,  pity  eternal  in  a  look 

That  read  my  life,  wide-open  as  a  book. 

Not  that  the  leaves  turned  over  one  by  one 

Revealing,  page  by  page,  all  I  had  done,  — 

The  Sense  is  as  a  scroll  where  manifold 

Indelible  things  are  day  by  day  uprolled 

And  treasuried  for  the  Memory  to  recall ; 

Maps  of  the  mental  world  hung  on  the  wall : 

But  Life  is  more  than  Letter  or  than  Law, 


24  A    TALE    OF  ETERNITY. 

And  deftly  as  the  brain  may  take  or  draw 

Its  daily  tallies,  never  can  it  keep 

In  fixed  figure  all  the  fathomless  Deep 

Of  Consciousness  conceals,  whose  restless  sea 

Ripples  on  changing  sands  unceasingly. 

Spirit  is  one.     It  is  the  crystal  book, 

Clear  through  and  through  ;  read  at  a  single  look. 

To  all  the  thoughts  that  ever  passed  through  us 

In  life,  in  death  we  grow  diaphanous. 

We  do  not  think  what  we  have  been,  we  ARE 

Past,  present,  future,  without  near  or  far. 

A  glimpse  of  this  is  lightened,  when  the  blind 

Is  raised,  in  drowning,  from  the  seeing  Mind  I 

So  the  electric  fiash,  thrown  o?i  the  wheel 

Revolving  swift  in  darkness,  will  reveal 

Each  whirling  spoke  distinct  as  standing  still. 

In  spirit-world  at  once  you  find  the  whole 

Of  life  contemporary  with  the  soul. 

"  There  is  strange  writing  of  the  somewhile  guest 
Featured  upon  tlie  form  it  leaves  at  rest, 
Which  men  in  some  dim-wise  may  read,  but  here 
Is  the  live  Chronicler  himself!  the  clear 
Truth  naked  —  brain  and  body  were  but  dress  — 
Quickened  by  the  Eternal  consciousness. 

"  So,  when  before  that  face,  I  felt  the  frown, 
There  was  no  need  of  hell  to  drag  me  down, 


A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  25 

7  could  have  welcomed  wafts  of  burning  flame 

To  clothe  my  nakedness  of  deadly  shame. 

I  lifted  to  my  brow  one  shading  hand, 

But  snatched  it  burning  from  the  Murderer's  brand. 

The  other  to  mine  eyes  I  pressed ;  't  was  red 

And  wet  and  dropping  with  the  blood  I  shed. 

I  tried  to  cover  up  my  aching  sight 

And  found  myself  all  eye  to  pitiless  light. 

"  In  olden  times,  it  was  the  wont,  they  say, 
To  bring  the  Murderer  where  his  victim  lay, 
And  at  his  touch,  as  to  his  slaying  knife, 
The  wound  would  flush :    Death  speak  with  lips  of 
Life. 

"  So,  from  the  frown,  a  golden-headed  Child 
Lookt  out  on  me  and  innocently  smiled  ! 

"  I  shrieked  my  guiltiness  at  sight  of  it, 
And  downward  plunged,  for  hiding  in  the  Pit. 
1  Curse  God  and  die,'  the  Devil  said  of  old. 
I  curse,  and  back  the  curses  crowd  tenfold. 
Against  the  cold  Heaven  strikes  my  burning  breath, 
To  fall  in  drops  of  wrath,  far  worse  than  death. 
And  still  I  curse  and  still  I  cannot  die ; 
And  still  I  watch  for  Death  with  pleading  eye, 
To  find  that  lie  will  nevermore  draw  nigh  ! 
Would  that  the  Mighty  One  had  spit  on  me 
And  wiped  the  blot  from  his  eternity  ! 


26  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 


PART  in. 

Y  Temptress  lives  on  still. 

She  is  a  Wife 

And  Mother ;  lives  an  unsuspected  life. 
She  Iiath  grown  fat  and  flourished  on  the  ill, 
The  poison,  that  should  naturally  kill. 
That  cruel  stain  of  Murder  seemed  to  pass 
From  off  her  face  of  life  as  breath  from  glai>s. 
I  sometimes  play  the  devil  in  her  dream 
And  plague  her  with  a  glimpse,  one  lurid  gleam 
Of  all  my  torment ;  her  thick  veil  I  tear 
And  lay  the  unholy  of  unholies  bare, 
Else  were  her  heart  untroubled,  deaf  and  blind. 
With  her  things  out  of  sight  are  out  of  mind, 
And  should  she  hear  a  voice  from  the  Unknown 
She  takes  it  for  an  echo  of  her  own. 

"  Ah,  Mistress,  did  you  know  we  have  to  stand 
Together  yet,  as  equals,  hand  in  hand, 
Like  Eve  and  Adam,  shivering  side  by  side, 
Where  not  a  leaf  our  nakedness  can  hide  ; 
Our  secret  blazoned,  as  a  flag  unfurled 
High  on  the  housetops  of  another  world  I 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  27 

"  She  was  a  buxom  beauty !     In  her  way 

Imperious  as  the  Thane's  Wife  in  the  Play. 

A  woman  who  upon  the  outside  smiled, 

Burnished  like  beetles,  inwardly  defiled; 

With  hair  that  like  a  thunder-cloud,  black-brightening, 

Caught  the  sunlight  and  fiasht  it  back  in  lightning. 

The  Devil  never  toyed  with  worthier  folds, 

Alout  a  comelier  throat,  to  strangle  souls ; 

A  face  that  dazzled  you  with  life's  white-heat, 

Devouring,  as  it  drew  you  off"  your  feet, 

With  eyes  that  set  the  Beast  o'  Hie  blood  astir, 

Leaping  in  heart  and  brain,  alive  for  her  ; 

Melted  the  sword  of  soul  within  its  sheath : 

The  knee-joints  loosened,  smitten  by  her  breath 

Until  you  bowed,  as  the  strong  beast  boweth, 

When  taken  captive  by  the  dark  of  death : 

Lithe,  amorous  lips,  cruel  in  curve  and  hue, 

Which,  greedy  as  the  grave,  my  kisses  drew 

With  hers,  that  to  my  mouth  like  live  things  dung 

Long  after,  and  in  memory  fiercely  stung : 

A  dainty  morsel  of  the  Devil's  meat 

To  roll  beneath  my  tongue,  as  poison  sweet ! 

Had  not  the  Mother  ate  forbidden  food, 

This  was  the  Daugiiter  among  Women  that  would. 

"  But  what  avails  to  cast  on  her  the  blame  ? 
I  will  not :   Will  not  name  her  by  her  name. 
The  deed  is  done ;  the  sin  is  sinned ;  the  brand 
Is  on  my  brow ;  the  blood  burns  on  my  hand. 


28  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

"  I  must  have  been  a  beast  myself  from  birth. 
We  lived  as  Beasts  in  that  old  burrow  of  earth 
They  called  a  House ;  the  Cot  where  I  was  born  ; 
One  of  those  dwellings  Poets  will  adorn 
Outside  with  Honeysuckle  and  climbing  Rose, 
But  where,  within,  no  flower  of  Heaven  blows 
With  sweetening  breath,  for  want  of  air  and  light, 
And  in  the  wild  weeds  crawl  the  things  of  night : 
Where  any  life-warmth  quickens  the  dark  slime 
Of  hovelled  sin  to  swarm  in  shame  and  crime. 

"  My  pastoral  home  was  one  wherein  are  grown 
Boys  for  the  Hulks ;  girls  for  the  pitiless  Town 
That  'flaunts  beneath  the  gaslights  on  the  highway, 
Tlie  full-blown  flowers  of  many  a  filthy  byway  ! 
Where  Virtue  had  no  safeguard,  Vice  no  veil ; 
The  Devil  sowed  his  seed,  never  to  fail  — 
With  such  a  soil  —  in  growing  harvest  meet 
For  him,  as  sure  as  corn  is  grown  to  eat. 

"  I  should  have  been  the  beast  that  Nature  binds 
To  beaten  ways  and  with  her  blinkers  blinds. 
But,  was  a  Beast  with  scope  to  work  all  ill ; 
Treat  Wife  and  dumb  things  cruelly  —  sin  —  kill 
And  go  to  Hell  by  freedom  of  the  will. 
And  yet  I  knew  not  —  such  the  curse  of  sin  !  — 
Until  the  fall  came,  what  was  ripe  within ; 
What  demon  I  had  nurst  past  suckling-time, 
To  find  that  he  could  go  alone  in  crime. 


A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  29 

"  She  came  to  me,  her  great  black  eyes  aglare 
Like  stars  of  bale,  yet  with  the  hunted  stare 
Of  wild  things ;  such  as  made  me  stare  to  see 
What  danger  followed  her  and  threatened  me. 
I  knew  that  Nemesis  was  drawing  near, 
And  in  the  beating  of  my  heart  could  hear 
The  hovering  wings  that  bow  strong  men  with  fear. 

"'What  is  it?'  I  asked.      What  need  for  her  to  tell  ? 

'T  was  writ  all  over  her.     I  knew  too  well. 

And  still  I  stared  beyond,  as  if  that  way 

The  blackness  rose  that  blotted  out  the  day. 

For  days,  and  weeks,  and  months,  her  secret  lay 

Safe-nestled,  unsuspected  by  her  friends. 

But  one  day  all  disguise  in  sinning  ends, 

And  every  wayside  hiding-place  is  past. 

She  had  to  leave  her  home  and  fly  at  last  — 

Mad  with  the  misery  of  a  Mother's  pain, 

She  ran  to  me,  through  fire,  and  hail,  and  rain, 

And  mire  below,  and  thunder  overhead; 

Ran  lightning-dazed,  and  drencht,  till  nearly  dead. 

"  Well  I  remember  that  LAST  DA  Y.     I  see 

It  lightning-lit.     I  feel  it  stamped  in  me, 

As  with  the  black  seal  of  Eternity. 

It  was  about  mid-spring,  when  suddenly 

The,  rear  of  beaten  winter  turned  in  ire, 

And  there  was  battle  fierce  of  Frost  and  Fire. 


30  A   TALE   OF   ETERNITY. 

The  Birds  stopped  singing ;  all  the  golden  flanv 
0'  the  Sun  went  out ;  the  Cattle  homeward  cam 
With  a  forerunning  shiver  rusht  the  breeze, 
And,  in  the  Woods,  the  husht  and  listening  tree*, 
That  had  been  standing  deathly-dark  and  still, 
Wind-whitened  sprang,  with  every  leaf  athrill. 
I  watched  the  anguisht  clouds  go  hurrying  by, 
Rackt  with  the  rending  spirit  of  prophecy : 
Like  Pythonesses  in  the  pangs,  they  tost 
And  writhed  in  shadowy  semblance  of  the  Lost  : 
They  met,  they  darted  death,  they  reared,  they  roared, 
And  down  the  torrent  of  the  tempest  poured  ! 
Through  heaven's  windows  the  blue  lightnings  gleamed, 
And  like  a  fractured  pane  the  sky  was  seamed : 
Hailstones  made  winter  on  the  whitened  ground, 
And  for  two  hours  the  thunder  icarrayed  round. 
And  then  I  heard  the  Thrush  begin  again, 
With  his  more  liquid  warble  after  rain. 

"  Tearing  through  all  the  fearful  storm  she  came  ; 

Worse  storm  within,  and  in  her  eyes  hellflame 

Had  broken  loose  to  kindle,  past  control, 

In  huge  dare-devilry  of  reckless  soul. 

As  springs  a  Madman,  dancing  upon  deck, 

Who  hath  fired  the  Ship,  and  glories  in  the  wreck ; 

As  at  a  Prison-window  one  may  stand 

Who  fired  the  house,  and  waves  the  lighted  brand, 

Her  spirit  sprang  at  me.     Her  looks  were  wild. 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  31 

She  had  come  to  me,  she  said,  to  bring  the  child, 

For  no  one  had  a  greater  right  to  it ! 

This  was  God's  truth,  not  merely  meant  for  wit. 

She  swore  that  she  had  come  there  and  would  stay 

Till  it  was  born,  and  safely  put  away. 

And  even  while  I  cursed  her  pangs  grew  worse, 

And  stopped  me  with  an  everlasting  curse. 

"  '  Good  God  !  this  is  too  bad,'  /  thought ;  and  laughl 

A  laugh  as  bitter  as  the  cup  I  quaft. 

I  had  been  married  just  a  month  !  my  Wife 

Knew  nothing  of  this  dead  love  come  to  life. 

As  Fate  would  have  it,  she  had  gone  from  home: 

I  knew  that  any  hour  she  might  have  come. 

With  desperate  voice  the  woman  made  me  writhe, 

Harsh  as  the  whetstone  on  the  Mower's  scythe 

She  rasped  me  all  on  edge. ;  the  hell-sparks  flew, 

Till  there  seemed  nothing  that  I  dared  not  do. 

'  Kill  it,  you  Coward !     Why  not  kill  us  both  ?  ' 

She  taunted  me ;  and  I  felt  little  loath. 

The  Devil  whispered,  '  Why  not  kill  them  both  1 ' 

I  said  I  would,  and  clenched  it  with  an  oath." 

Now,  while  he  spake,  there  came  a  frightful  change 
Upon  him  with  transfiguration  strange, 
And  slowly  he  assumed  his  mortal  dress 
With  a  last  look  of  dying  consciousness  : 
The  eyes  turned  stony  in  a  sightless  stare, 


32  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

And  of  all  presence  he  grew  unaware : 

Clouded  and  lost  within  his  dreadful  dream 

He  went ;  a  Man  once  more,  each  pore  a  stream 

Of  inner  agony ;  his  body  shook, 

And  from  his  mazed  face  did  "  MURDER  "  look. 

It  was  as  when  in  dreams  you  see  a  dumb 

Mouth  shaped  to   cry  it,   though  no  sound  will 

come. 

While  in  his  hand  he  grasped  a  gleaming  knife, 
So  keen,  you  saw  it  thirst  for  a  drink  of  life ! 
And,  as  he  passed  into  his  haunted  gloom, 
His  dreadful  purpose  drew  him  from  the  room. 

So  terrible  the  scene,  I  should  have  cried 
For  help  in  the  death-eddies,  —  must  have  died 
But  for  the  strong  calm  Spirit  at  my  side, 
Who  took  me  by  the  hand  and  turned  on  mine 
His  cordial  face  with  comfortable  shine. 
And  then  the  darkness  gave  a  sudden  sigh, 
And  a  wind  rose  that  went  lamenting  by. 
"  Listen,"  he  said.     I  leaned,  all  ear,  to  hark  ; 
I  felt  the  quake  of  footsteps  through  the  dark, 
Heavily  hurrying  down  a  distant  stair, 
And  caught  a  piteous  wail  faint  on  the  air. 
The  Dog  howled  his  lone  cry,  as  he  would  fain 
Give  warning,  knowing  it  was  all  in  vain. 
Then  came  the  liquid  gurgle  and  the  ring 
Metallic,  with  the  heavy  plop  and  ping, 


A   TALE  OF  ETERNITY.  33 

Heavier  than  largest  water-drops  that  fall 
From  melting  icicles  on  house-eaves  tall. 
I  knew  them  now ;  this  resurrection  night 
Sounds  were  translated  into  things  of  sight. 
These  were  the  innocent  drops  a  father  shed. 
They  had  the  weight  of  blood,  fell  heavy  as  lead. 
And  now  again  I  felt  the  griding  sound 
O'  the  grating  door ;  the  digging  underground ; 
The  shudders  of  the  house ;  the  sighs  and  moans ; 
The  ring  of  iron  dropped  upon  the  stones ; 
The  cloudy  presence  groping  near ;  the  quake 
Of  walls  that  vibrate  with  the  parting  shake ; 
Then  the  relief.     As  they  who  stoop  with  dread, 
While  the  Simoom  goes  withering  overhead 
Like  iron  red-hot,  look  up  and  breathe  at  last, 
So  felt  I  when  that  thing  of  Night  had  passed 

'T  is  but  a  dream,  methought,  and  I  shall  wake 
Erelong  and  from  its  dread  embraces  break. 
And  if  I  could  but  only  wake,  I  knew 
By  light  of  day  these  things  could  not  be  true ! 
How  many  a  dream  before  had  wraith-like  gone 
To  nothing  at  the  sceptic  smile  of  Dawn. 
And  still  I  could  not  wake,  nor  wake  my  Wife ; 
And  still  the  dream  went  on,  and  like  as  life 
There  stood  the  Angel  in  it ;  overshone 
The  well-known  room. 

And  then  the  voice  went  on. 

3 


34  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

"  The  nether  world  hath  opened  at  your  feet, 
And  you  have  seen  ascending  from  the  Pit 
The  torment-smoke,  where  furnace-fires  of  Crime 
Have  crackt  the  crust  of  this  your  world  of  Time. 

"  It  was  an  awful  hour  of  storm  and  rain 
And  starless  gloom  in  which  the  Child  was  slain. 
Wild,  windily  the  Night  went  roaring  by, 
As  if  loud  seas  broke  in  the  woodlands  nigh, 
Or  all  the  blasts  of  Heaven  at  once  were  hurled 
To  stop  the  onward  rolling  of  the  world. 
The  firmament  was  all  one  flash,  and  red 
The  lightning  laught,  as  Hell  were  overhead. 

"  He  had  dug  his  grave  amid  this  war  of  storm. 
He  bore  the  murdered  Babe  upon  his  arm 
For  burial,  where  no  eye  should  ever  mark. 
Just  then  Heaven  opened  at  him  with  the  bark 
Of  all  the  Hell-hounds  loosed.     And  in  the  dark 
Out  went  the  liglit,  and  down  he  dropt  the  key, 
That  was  to  lead  to  safety  secretly. 
He  was  alone  with  Death,  and  paces  three 
Beyond  the  door  an  open  grave  gaped,  free 
For  all  the  daylight  world  to  come  and  see ; 
And  he  was  fastened. 

Like  the  luckless  wight 

W7io  wagered  he  would  enter  a  Vault  at  night 
In  some  old  Graveyard,  and,  in  proof  he  did, 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  35 

Would  leave  his  dagger  stuck  in  a  Coffin-lid.  — 
He  ventured :  bravely  dashed  the  weapon  down 
And  turned  to  triumph,  when,  by  the  student  gown 
He  was  held  fast,  as  if  the  living  tomb 
Had  closed  upon  him ;  clutched  him  in  the  gloom. 
He  had  pinned  his  long  robe  to  the  coffin  I     Fright 
Came  on  him  like  a  snow-fall !      Weirdly-white 
His  hair  turned,  and  the  youth  was  a  forlorn, 
Old,  gray-faced,  gibbering  Idiot  next  morn. 

"  The  Murderer  did  not  madden  thus,  but  he 
Was  stamped  that  moment  for  Eternity. 
He  stooped  with  his  dead  child,  fie  groped  and  found 
The  key,  and  got  the  corse  safe  underground, 
And  out  of  sight  had  hid  his  murder-hole, 
Ere  Dawn  looked  ghostly  on  his  guilty  soul, 
And  on  his  hands  no  man  could  see  the  stain 
His  madness  went  beyond  the  burning  brain; 
His  was  the  frenzy  of  a  soul  insane. 

"  Tlte  hour  came  when  he  lost  the  key  again. 
As  the  death-rattles  thundered  in  his  throat, 
And  earth  was  rushing  past  his  soul  afloat, 
And  pain  had  fiercely  throbbed  itself  to  rest, 
And  Time  stopped  ticking  in  the  brain  and  breast, 
It  gleamed  and  vanisht  from  his  fading  sight, 
While  cracked  his  eye-strings  straining  through  the  night. 
Thenceforth  it  was  his  hottest  hell  to  be 


36  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

Living  ike  moment  when  he  lost  that  key: 
Sell  that  is  permanent  insanity  ! 

"  There  was  a  man  who  died  ages  ago, 

And  't  is  his  madness  still  to  wile  his  woe 

At  work  forever,  perfecting  the  plan 

That  should  have,  must  have  shown  his  fellow-man 

How  innocent  he  was  of  that  old  crime 

He  died  for  justly  —  had  Jie  thought  in  time. 

"  Even  so  this  lost  soul  whirls  and  eddies  round 
The  grave-place  where  the  lost  key  must  be  found, 
If  tne  mad  motion  would  a  moment  cease 
And  he  could  only  get  a  moment's  peace  ; 
He  often  sees  it,  but  he  cannot  touch 
It ;  like  a  live  thing  it  eludes  his  clutch  — 
Gone  like  that  glitter  from  the  eyes  of  Death 
In  the  black  river  at  night  that  slides  beneath 
The  Bridges,  tempting  souls  of  Suicides 
To  find  the  promised  rest  it  surely  hides. 

"  For  seven  years  it  was  his  curse  to  come 
At  midnight  and  fulfil  his  dreadful  doom, 
Looking  for  that  lost  key,  lest  it  revealed 
The  secret  he  so  cunningly  concealed; 
Feeling  at  times  he  could  endure  his  hell 
If  in  one  world  of  torment  he  might  dwell. 
And  still  from  world  to  world  he  had  to  go 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  37 

(A  rootless  weed  the  wave  swings  to  and  fro  !) 

Wandering  with  incommunicable  woe; 

Well-knowing  that,  for  every  moment  lost, 

His  soul  would  be  in  treble  anguish  tost, 

While  every  storm  of  wind  and  rain  would  beat 

Upon  him,  kindle  hell  to  tenfold  heat, 

And  make  him  hurry  to  your  upper  air, 

Lest  it  should  wash  and  blow  the  bones  all  bare. 

For  often  will  a  wind  of  God  arise 

At  midnight,  and  the  voice  of  Murder  cries 

From  it,  and  bones  of  murdered  babes  are  found; 

Earth  will  no  longer  be  their  burial  ground. 

And  so  on  stormy  nights  his  pangs  are  worst : 

More  dread  the  gnashings  of  that  soul  accurst. 

"  For  seven  years  he  came,  unseen,  unheard. 
'T  was  but  the  other  day  the  bones  were  stirred, 
As  men  were  delving  heedless  underground. 
They  broke  in  on  them,  scattered  them  around: 
Not  guessing  they  were  human. 

Lower  in  hell 

His  spirit  sank,  like  waters  in  a  well 
Before  there  springs  the  Earthquake.     Tremblings  sore 
Shook  him  with  vengeance  never  felt  before. 
He  came;  he  found  the  murder  had  leaped  out; 
The  grave  was  burst ;  the  bones  were  strewn  about 
For  all  the  world  to  find  ! 

It  mattered  not 


38  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

To  him  that  no  one  knew  them  ;  they  might  rot 

To  undistinguishable  dust  in  peace  ; 

That  Death  had  signed  his  order  of  release 

From  this  world's  law,  Death  had  no  shadows  dim 

Enough  to  hide  the  blacker  truth  from  him. 

He  was  the  Murderer  still,  who  had  to  hide 

The  proofs  of  murder  on  the  human  side! 

The  Child  was  his ;  these  were  its  tender  bones, 

Blown  with  the  dust  and  dasht  against  the  stones. 

And  all  his  care,  his  self-enfolded  pain 

And  midnight  watchings  lone,  were  all  in  vain. 

"  The  worms  that  in  the  dead  flesh  riot  and  roll 
Are  poor  faint  types  of  those  that  gnawed  his  soul  1 
Forever  beaten  now ;  though  he  should  find 
And  grasp  the  key  he  lost  when  he  went  blind 
In  death :  in  vain  he  mounts  upon  a  wind 
Of  hell  and  tries  to  fan  the- dry  dust  over  them 
With  endless  toil ;  no  sooner  doth  he  cover  them 
Than  tliere  's  an  ominous  muttering  in  the  air, 
And  in  an  instant  all  the  bones  lie  bare; 
While  lurking  devils  grin  through  masks  at  him, 
In  likeness  of  his  Child's  head,  gorily  grim  1 

"  It  comes  upon  him,  almost  with  a  gleam 
Of  comfort,  when  he  's  rapt  into  the  Dream 
You  saw  him  change  in,  and  he  passes  through 
His  night  of  murder ;  lives  it  all  anew, 


A    TALE  OF  ETERNITY.  39 

So  vividly  each  sound  is  heard  by  you ; 
Each  particle  of  Matter  set  afloat 
Upon  a  Mind-wave,  tossing  like  a  boat 
The  Spirit  rides. 

For,  as,  upon  his  brain, 

The  sounds  one  midnight  smote  in  a  ruddy  rain, 
Till  sense  had  dyed  the  spirit  with  their  stain, 
And  Memory  was  branded  deep  as  Cain, 
So  now  his  spirit  echoes  back  again 
The  fixed  ideas  of  a  soul  insane, 
Till  Matter  taking  impress  of  his  pain, 
Reverberates  the  sounds  within  your  brain." 


40  A   TALE  OF  ETERNITY. 


PART    IV. 

MUSED  and  mused  in  great  astonish- 
ment, 

While  on,  and  on,  the  growing  wonder 

went 

Within,  without,  on  wings  that  widelier  spread 
"  How  many  things,"  oft  to  myself  I  had  said, 
"  /  have  to  ask,  if  one  came  from  the  dead." 
And  now  I  had  my  wish.     My  thought  could  riw» 
No  fleeter  than  the  answer  filled  his  eyes 
And  flasht  electric  utterance  with  the  whole 
Illumined  figure  of  a  living  soul  I 
And,  ere  I  shaped  my  question,  what  was  dim 
And  dumb  in  me  shone  clear  as  light  in  him. 

"  More  Laws  than  Gravitation  keep  us  down 
To  the  old  place  from  whence  the  soul  had  flown. 
Not  every  one  in  death  can  get  adrift 
Freely  for  life.     Some  have  no  wings  to  lift 
Their  weary  weight :  the  body  of  their  sin 
Which  they  so  evilly  have  labored  in. 
Others  will  touch  as  't  were  the  window  sill 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

To  flutter  back  upon  the  ground-floor  still. 

Others  yet  grovel  like  the  beast  belogged 

In  the  old  ways,  to  which  they  are  self-dogged. 

Just  as  the  spirits  of  an  earlier  race 

Of  Man  in  dwarf  hood,  kept  their  dwelling-place 

On  earth  and,  revelling  in  the  moon's  pale  rays, 

Were  seen  as  Wee  Folk  in  old  wondering  days. 

"  A-many  wander  this  side  of  the  grave 

To  get  the  last  glimpse  they  can  ever  have 

Of  those  they  loved,  who  will  be  lost  in  light, 

While  they  go  darkling  and  are  lost  in  night. 

They  see  them  sometimes  in  the  world  of  breath ; 

They  part  forever  at  the  second  death. 

Others  would  blot  from  out  the  book  of  Time 

The  published  proofs  of  their  long-secret  crime 

That  glare  so  guiltily  to  spirit  sight. 

Teachers  who  called  Good  evil ;  darkness  light ; 

Who  see  more  clearly  in  the  unclouding  day, 

Strive  to  recall  the  souls  they  led  astray, 

And  find  the  world,  that  once  hung  on  their  breath, 

Goes  by-  them  now,  heedless  and  deaf  as  Death. 

Some,  who  have  done  a  wrong  that,  unperceived, 

Ran  to  a  sea  of  sin,  are  sorely  grieved, 

And  ready  to  spend  a  lifetime  shut  from  bliss, 

Might  they  but  right  the  wrong  they  did  in  this : 

So  dear,  so  awful,  when  the  past  is  seen, 

Grows  the  dark  mystery  of  might-have-been. 


6fl  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

"  You  know  the  Mill  upon  the  windy  hill, 
That  stands  all  day  so  desolate  and  still ; 
A  weary,  dreary,  dark,  deserted  Mill, 
Whose  loneliness  doth  all  the  horizon  fill, 
With  outspread  arms  appealing  to  tlie  sky 
And  one  dim  window  like  a  blinded  eye  ? 
I  see  those  long  arms  tossing  through  the  night, 
While  from  the  window  gleams  unearthly  light 
And  furtive  forms  will  dimly  flit  before, 
With  feet  that  stir  no  dust  upon  the  floor. 
These  are  the  Ghosts  of  those  who  robbed  the  Poor 
In  old  dead  years  !     And  now,  by  window  and  door, 
We  catch  their  faces,  wearing  such  a  look 
Of  prayer  as  Men  have  when  a  ship  has  struck. 
But  no  one  comes  to  take  his  own  again, 
And  there  is  none  to  ease  them  of  their  pain. 
Repentance  woke  so  late,  their  toil  is  vain. 
Night  after  night  upon  the  haunted  hitt 
In  that  old  desolate,  doom-stricken  Mill. 

"  This  happened  beneath  the  broad  shining  day, 
Right  in  the  rush  of  life  that  makes  its  way 
Through  London  streets. 

Slowly,  'mid  that  swift  throng, 
A  thoughtful  man  went  _mooningly  along ; 
More  lonely  in  that  wilderness  of  men. 
And  at  a  corner  where  the  Devil's  den 
Is  palace-fronted  now  —  all  gilt  and  glass  — 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  43 

Illuminating  nightly  all  who  pass 

By  the  broad  way  to  hdl  with  gin  and  gas, 

And  souls  are  sloughed,  like  city  sewage,  down 

Dead-seaward,  through  the  sink-holes  of  the  town. 

He  heard  a  pitiful  voice  that  took  strange  hold 

Of  him;  ran  through  his  blood  in  lightnings  cold; 

Mournful,  remote,  and  hollow,  as  if  the  tomb 

Had  buried  a  live  spirit  in  its  gloom, 

Monotonously  sounding  on  below 

A  vast  unutterable  weight  of  woe ; 

A  voice  that  its  own  speaker  would  not  know  ! 

As  if  unbreathing  life  were  doomed  to  bear 

Shut  down  on  it  the  load  of  all  the  air. 

He  stopped. 

A  woman  clothed  in  rags  he  saw 
With  fixed  beseeching  eyes  begin  to  draw 
Him  to  her ;  left  no  power  to  say  them  nay. 
With  one  stretcht  arm  she  begged ;  on  the  other  lay, 
Soft  in  a  snow  of  gold,  a  Cherub  Child  ! 
So  have  you  seen  a  Glowworm  on  the  wild 
Bleak  moorland ;  all  the  dusk  a  moment  smiled. 

"  For  the  babe's  sake  he  thrust  a  coin  of  gold 
Into  her  hand !  but,  it  fell  through,  and  rolled 
Ringing  along  the  stones :  he.  followed,  found 
It,  brought  it  back  and  lookt  around  : 
There  was  no  woman  waiting  with  her  hand 
Outstretcht,  no  Child,  where  he  had  seen  them  stand. 


44  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

In  vain  he  searched  each  by-way  round  about ; 
Through  life  even,  never  made  the  mystery  out. 


"  The  truth  is,  he  was  one  of  those  who  see 

At  times  side-glimpses  of  eternity. 

The  Beggar  was  a  Spirit,  doomed  to  plead 

With  hurrying  wayfarers,  who  took  no  heed, 

But  passed  her  by,  indifferent  as  the  dead, 

Till  one  should  hear  her  voice  and  turn  the  head; 

Doomed  to  stand  there  and  beg  for  bread,  in  tears, 

To  feed  her  child  that  had  been  dead  for  years  ! 

This  was  the  very  spot  where  she  had  spent 

Its  life  for  drink,  and  this  the  punishment ; 

Feeling  she  had  let  it  slip  into  the  grave, 

And  now  would  give  eternal  life  to  save : 

Heartless  and  deaf  and  blind  the  world  went  by, 

Until  this  Dreamer  came,  with  seeing  eye; 

The  good  Samaritan  of  souls  had  given 

And  wrought  the  change  that  was  to  her  as  Heaven, 

"  It  is  not  Crime  alone  brings  Spirits  back  . 
To  pull  beside  you  in  the  wonted  track. 
Shadows  of  mortal  care  will  cloud  the  brow 
That  should  have  shone  as  clear  as  sunlit  snow : 
And  those  who  hindered  here  must  help  you  now. 
Not  always  can  the  soul  forgive  in  heaven 
Itself  for  deeds  that  God  hath  long  forgiven. 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  45 

"  A  wedded  couple,  bedded,  snug  as  birds 

In  nested  peace,  one  night  must  needs  have  words 

Of  strife  before  they  slept.     A  foolish  thing 

Had  on  a  sudden  set  them  bickering  ; 

Some  wild-fire  wisp  had  dropt  a  subtle  spark 

That  kindled  at  a  breath  blown  through  the  dark, 

And  all  their  passion  burst  in  tongues  of  flame: 

Their  anger  blinding  each  to  personal  blame. 

She  had  been  pillowed  on  his  beating  heart, 

And  in  an  instant  they  had  sprung  apart ! 

The  arm  that  wound  about  her  he  withdrew, 

And  Night,  with  dark  divorce,  came  'twixt  the  two. 

"  A  little  thing  had  plucked  them  palm  from  palm ; 

A  little  thing  had  broke  their  happy  calm  ; 

A  little  thing  fall'n  in  the  pleasant  path 

Of  their  life-stream,  that  turned  to  bubbling  wrath! 

And  little  might  have  made  them  yield  and  cling 

Repentant ;  yea,  a  very  little  thing. 

A  touch  would  have  sufficed  to  make  the  stream 

Flow  free  once  more ;  dream  out  its  happy  dream. 

A  kiss  have  fused  them  into  one  again, 

And  saved  them  many  a  year  of  piteous  pain. 

'T was  such  a  little  thing  they  had  to  do; 

Both  yearned  to  make  it  up,  and  this  both  knew. 

If  one  could  but  have  said  '  Good  night,'  scared  Love 

Would  have  come  down  to  brood  like  Holy  Dove. 

And,  being  done,  all  would  have  been  so  well. 


46  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

Not  being  done,  it  left  the  rift  for  Hell, 
To  break  through,  and  another  triumph  win. 
Ever  the  worst  of  Traitors  are  within. 
But  neither  spoke,  though  long  upon  the  wing 
Love  waited  lingeringly  listening  ! 

"  Waking,  he  heard  her  in  her  slumbers  weep, 
And  then  he  slept,  and  in  the  guise  of  Sleep 
Death  came  for  him,  nor  gave  him  time  to  say 
'  Good  night,'  '  Good  by,'  and  at  his  side  she  lay 
A  Widow  !     And  upon  that  dark  no  day 
Hath  broke  for  her.     For  him,  nor  hell  nor  heaven 
Will  open ;  praying  still  to  be  forgiven, 
Night  after  night  at  her  bedside  he  stands, 
Wringing  his  sold  as  one  may  wring  the  hands ; 
By  natural  law  of  grieved  love ;  not  sent 
In  vengeance  and  unnatural  punishment. 

"  The  unslain  shadows  of  Hie  Martyrs  slain, 
Rise  on  their  fields  of  old  heart-ache  and  pain, 
To  fight  their  battle  over  and  over  again. 
Half-buried  hands,  still  thrust  up  through  the  sod, 
From  Jields  of  carnage,  prayerfully  to  God, 
Will  grasp  the  weapons  of  immortal  war. 
Freed  spirits  make  their  conquering  battle-car 
Of  human  hearts :  they  did  b  ut  hold  their  breath 
To  smite  unheard  in  their  dark  cloud  of  death. 
They  work  for  Freedom  still,  though  out  of  sight ; 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  47 

They  are  torch-bearers  in  your  mortal  night. 
The  Tyrants  may  destroy  the  body ;  drench 
The  life  out  with  the  blood,  but  cannot  quench 
The  spirit,  nor  put  out  the  lofty  light 
0'  the  stars  that  in  their  courses  'gainst  them  fight  I 

"  Wide  as  the  wings  of  Sleep  by  night  are  spread, 
Are  Freedom's  Exiles  scattered,  and  her  dead 
Have  lain  their  bodies  down  'neath  God's  great  dome. 
But  every  banisht  spirit  hurries  home, 
Soon  as  the  free,  long-fettered  life  upsprings 
Awave  one  day  on  mighty  warrior-wings. 
Each  soul,  let  out,  fights  with  the  strength  of  seven, 
Under  God's  shield,  and  on  the  side  of  heaven. 

"  The  secret  meaning  of  the  marvels  told 
Of  wars  in  heaven  and  visions  seen  of  old,  — 
When,  with  a  fiery  cloud  of  witnesses, 
The  other  world  made  its  dumb-show  to  this 
And  drew  vast  plans  of  battle  on  the  air, 
Alive  with  death  and  lit  with  vengeful  glare,  — 
Was,  that  the  heavens  on  their  huge  scroll  unfurled 
The  imagery  of  war  in  spirit  world ; 
Reflecting,  on  the  ceiling  of  the  night, 
The  shadowy  forms  embattled  beyond  sight. 

The  other  world  is  not  cut  off  from  this  : 
Forgetfulness  is  not  the  gate  of  bliss. 


48  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

At  times  the  buried  dead  within  you  rise 
To  look  out  on  their  old  world  through  your  eyes  ; 
They  touch  you  with  the  waving  of  their  wing, 
Lightly  as  airs  of  heaven  the  jEolian  string. 
At  times  as  Comforters  above  you  stoop, 
To  lift  the  burden  from  you  when  ye  droop  I 
As  parents  on  their  little  ones  may  peep 
Ere  going  to  rest,  they  bend  to  bless  your  sleep. 
With  fruit  from  our  Lord's  Garden  dear  ones  come 
To  bring  ye  a  foretaste  ;  try  to  lure  you  home. 

"  With  clap  o'  the  shoulder,  friends  behind  you  steal 
The  old  glad  way,  though  ye  no  longer  feel : 
They  watch  you  as  ye  watch  the  darkened  mind 
Of  some  arrested  spirit;  try  to  unwind 
A  way  to  it ;  with  drops  of  pity  melt 
The  clod  about  it ;  have  their  fondness  felt ! 
Even  as  ye  turn  your  thoughts  to  them  above, 
Do  they  return  to  you ;  look  back  for  love. 

"  They  left  you  standing  still  at  gaze  upon 

The  cloud  they  entered,  where  the  light  last  shone. 

And  while  the  wet  eyes  watch,  and  wait,  and  yearn, 

As  if  by  that  same  way  they  might  return, 

And  through  the  dark  ye  stretch  the  ungrasped  hand, 

There,  at  some  window  of  the  soul,  they  stand 

All  whitdy  clothed  with  immortality ; 

Closer  to  you  than  flesh  and  blood  can  be. 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  49 

"  Old  loves  are  with  you  in  your  dreams ;  but  fear 

Lest  they  should  make  their  presence  felt  too  near  ; 

The  face  of  Love  in  Heaven  they  dare  not  show; 

For  with  its  glory  they  might  set  aglow 

Your  earthly  love,  which  leaps  to  embrace  a  bliss 

That  lives  and  dies  in  a  consuming  kiss. 

So  warm  Laodamia  wooed  her  dead 

Dear  Husband's  'Shade,  as  if  they  were  new  wed! 

"  And  certain  spirits  are  perplexed  to  find 
How  like  their  life  to  that  they  left  behind 
In  natural  nearness  to  their  darlings  here, 
Who  lose  them  just  because  they  are  so  near 
In  life  that  grows  impenetrably  dear  ! 

"  Many  that  tossed  together  on  the  sea, 

And  parted  in  the  storm ;  lost  utterly, 

Find  they  were  only  wrecfct  to  meet  again, 

Safe  on  the  same  shore,  after  all  the  pain. 

God  hath  so  many  ways  by  which  we  come 

To  Him ;  through  many  a  door  He  draws  us  Home. 

"  Others  are  horribly  startled  at  the  change 
Revealed  in  death,  all  is  so  ghastly  strange  ! 
So  many  Masters  in  the  realms  of  breath 
Serve  at  the  feet  of  those  who  are  crowned  in  death. 
So  many  weeds,  your  blind  world  flung  aside, 
Are  gathered  up  as  flowers,  thrice  glorified. 
4 


50  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

TJie  Invisible  dawns  !     The  sleepers  wake  to  fold 
Less  death  in  dying  than  in  living  blind: 
And  now  the  eyes  their  earthy  scales  let  fall, 
They  see  that  they  have  never  lived  at  all. 

"I've  known  a  follower  of  the  strictest  faith. 
Whose  dead  religion  rested  on  a  death, 
And  frequent  praying  in  the  market-place, 
With  proclamation  of  his  private  grace ; 
Who  sat  among  the  loftiest  Self-Elect, 
But  had  not  learned  through  life  to  walk  erect  — 
Strait-waistcoated  in  stony  pieties  — 
And  when  Death  came  —  the  Iconoclast  who  frees  — 
He  could  not  stand  without  their  rigid  stay. 
The  Maker's  image  had  but  stamped  the  clay. 
On  earth  he  wore  the  mask  of  Man  awhile, 
But  when  the  Searchers,  with  their  slow,  calm  smile, 
Had  stripped  him,  the  soul  shrank  from  man's  disguise  j 
It  fled,  and  fell,  and  wriggled,  reptile-wise. 

"  I  've  seen  the  foolish  slaves  of  luxury, 
Who  loll  at  ease  and  live  deliciously ; 
In  Pleasure's  poppy-garden  drowse  and  press 
With  amorous  arms  my  Lady  Idleness ; 
Who,  floating  downward  in  voluptuous  dream, 
Just  lean  to  catch  the  sparkles  from  Life's  stream 
That  runs  with  Siren-sound  and  dizzying  dance, 
And  hides  its  wrecks  with  winking  radiance,  — 


A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  51 

Who,  risen  from  life's  feast,  came  reeling  thence 

Immortals,  drunken  with  the  fumes  of  Sense; 

I  've  seen  them  in  a  pleasure-seeking  group, 

At  Death's  low  door  with  mock  politeness  stoop, 

And  wantonly  they  went,  nodding  the  head, 

As  though  to  lightsome  music  they  were  led: 

Heedless  the  merry  madcaps  came  before 

The  awful  gate,  as  't  were  a  Playhouse  door. 

It  opened,  and  the  darlings  entered  in 

As  to  the  secret  Paradise  of  Sin  ! 

But  in  a  moment  what  a  change  there  was. 

In  front  of  them  there  rose  a  mocking  glass 

In  place  of  drop-scene  —  this  was  not  a  Play  — 

In  which  they  stared,  and  could  not  turn  away, 

But  still  stared  on,  in  silence  one  and  all, 

To  see  their  Jinery  fade,  their  feathers  fall ; 

In  which  grim  moulting  of  the  plumes  of  pride 

They  had  to  lay  all  ornaments  aside  ; 

And  on  the  face  of  every  Woman  and  Man, 

Like  wet  paint  on  a  mask,  the  colors  ran ; 

The  skin  grew  writhled,  and  within  the  head 

Their  eyes  lookt  like  gray  ghosts  of  hopes  long  dead. 

"  The  naked  image  of  their  own  selves  they  see, 

Stripped  in  the  mirror  of  eternity ; 

Worm-eaten  through  and  through  ivith  thoughts  that  prey 

On  life  itself  and  rot  the  soul  away. 

Wine-cups  await  them  ;  though  well  kept,  for  years 


52  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY, 

The  urine,  it  had  been  made  of  human  tears, 

And  tasted  bitter  !     Fruit  was  given  to  eat, 

The  fruit  of  their  own  life ;  so  smiling-sweet 

It  lookt!  like  Apples  when  the  shining  round 

Is  made  of  rose-leaf  on  a  golden  ground; 

The  crimson  and  the  golden  melting  through, 

Right  to  the  core,  in  one  delicious  hue. 

But  these  were  Apples  of  the  Dead-Sea  shore; 

Ashes  without,  and  maggots  at  the  core. 

Saluting  their  fine  nostrils  Odors  rise; 

The  scent  of  lifelong  human  sacrifice! 

The  brother's  blood,  that  climbs  to  them  and  cries. 

Then  are  they  led  where  healing  waters  wait 

To  wash  the  soiled  soul ;  repristinate 

TJie  image  of  God  so  earthily  concealed ; 

But  while  they  lave  find,  more  and  more  revealed, 

Deeper  disfigurement  and  deadlier  stain, 

As  wetted  marble  shows  the  darker  grain. 


A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  53 


PAKT    V. 

i  HE  dim  world  of  the  dead  is  all  alive ; 
All  busy  as  the  bees  in  summer  hive; 
More  living  than  of  old;  a  life  so  deep, 
To  you  its  swifter  motion  looks  like  sleep. 

Whether  in  bliss  they  breathe,  in  bale  they  burn, 

His  own  eternal  living  each  must  earn. 

We  suck  no  honey-comb  in  drowsy  peace, 

Because  ennobling  natural  cares  all  cease  ; 

We  live  no  life,  as  many  dream,  caressed 

By  some  vast  lazy  sea  of  endless  rest  — 

For  there,  as  here,  unbusy  is  unblest. 

"Man  is  the  wrestling-place  of  Heaven  and  Hell, 
Where,  foot  to  foot,  Angel  and  Devil  dwell, 
With  both  attractions  drawing  him.     This  gives 
The  perfect  poise  in  which  his  freedom  lives. 
No  one  so  near  to  heaven  to  lack  for  scope; 
No  one  so  near  to  hell  to  lose  all  hope. 
Whichever  way  he  wills,  to  left  or  right, 
Lets  in  a  flood  of  supernatural  might. 
He  flames  out  hellward,  and  all  hell  is  free, 
Rejoicing  in  the  gust  of  liberty, 


54  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

To  rush  in  on  him,  work  its  devilry ! 
In  strength  of  faith,  or  feebleness  of  fear, 
He  bows  and  bends  the  highest  heavens  near. 
The  brightness  upon  Prayer's  uplifted  face 
Reflects  some  spirit-presence  in  the  place. 

"  Each  impure  nature  hath  its  parasites, 

That  live  and  revel  in  unclean  delights. 

Like  moths  around  a  flame  they  swim  and  swarm, 

Or  flies  about  a  horse,  that  ride  the  warm 

And  reeking  air  which  is  their  atmosphere, 

Their  breath  of  life,  the  ranker  the  more  dear. 

They  glory  in  the  grossness  of  the  blood, 

For,  reptile-like,  they  lay  their  eggs  in  mud. 

In  every  darksome  corner  of  the  mind 

They  hang  their  webs,  the  winged  life  to  bind; 

Weaving  the  shadow  of  the  Evil  One 

To  darken  'twixt  the  spirit  and  its  sun. 

"  If  those  blind  Unbelievers  did  but  know 
Through  what  a  perilous  Unknown  they  go 
By  night  and  day :  what  furtive  eyes  do  mark 
Them  fiercely  from  their  ambush  oftlie  dark; 

What  motes  of  spirit  dance  in  every  beam ; 

What  grim  realities  mix  with  their  dream  ; 

What  serpents  try  to  pull  down  fallen  souls, 

As  earth-worms  drag  the  dead  leaves  through  their  /tales 

What  cunning  sowers  drop  the  sted  by  night 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 


55 


Thai  flames  to  fatal  flower  in  broad  daylight ; 
What  foul  birds  drop  their  eggs  in  innocent  nests, 
To  win  their  heat  from  warmth  of  innocent  breasts : 
What  snaky  thieves  o'ermount  each  garden  wall; 
On  life's  fresh  leaves  what  caterpillars  crawl; 
What  cool  green  pleasaunces  and  brooding  bowers 
Are  set  with  soul-traps  hid  among  the  flowers; 
What  Tempters  in  the  Chamber  of  Sleep  will  break, 
And  with  insidious  whisperings  keep  awake 
The  Soul !     How,  toad-like,  at  the  ear  will  lurk 
The  cunning  Satan,  wickedly  at  work : 
What  evil  spirits  hover  in  amorous  hate 
Round  him  who  nibbles  at  the  devil's  bait, 
Or  him  who  dallies,  fingering  the  sharp  edge 
Of  peril,  or  sits  with  feet  over  the  ledge, 
By  some  dark  water,  with  his  face  ash-wan, 
Until  they  urge  him  over ;  a  doomed  Man  ! 
What  cruel  demons  try  to  break  a  way, 
Through  weak  brains,  back  to  the  lost  world  of  day, 
And  from  some  little  rift  in  nature  yawns 
A  black  abysm  of  madness,  and  Hell  dawns : 
What  starvelings  seek  to  drink  Corruption's  breath 
From  rosy  life,  more  rich  than  rot  of  death; 
What  ghosts  of  drinkers  old  would  quench  their  drouth 
At  the  wine-bibber's  dreaming  stertorous  mouth  ; 
What  Sirens  seek  to  kitidle  at  your  fire 
Of  passion  some  live  spark  of  dead  desire  — 
They  would  be  ready  even  to  doubt  God's  power 


56  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

To  shield  their  little  life  from  hour  to  hour, 
And  many  would  be  going,  with  idiot-grin, 
Out  of  their  mind  to  let  the  marvel  in. 

"  But  do  not  think  the  Devil  hath  his  will. 
Whate'er  he  doth  he  is  God's  servant  still. 
And  in  the  larger  light  of  day  divine 
The  spark  of  his  hell-fire  shall  cease  to  shine. 
God  maketh  use  of  him ;  what  he  intends 
For  evil  Heaven  will  shape  to  its  own  ends. 
With  subtle  wile  he  tries  to  circumvent 
The  Lord,  and  works  just  what  the  Master  meant. 
He  hangs  the  dark  cloud  round  this  world  of  yours ; 
God  smilethy  and  a  rain  of  good  down-pours. 
He  dug  Christ's  tomb  so  deep  there  sprang  and  swirled 
Waters  of  life  to  baptize  all  the  world. 
He  strove  to  found  the  Empire  of  the  Slave, 
It  crumbled  in :'  he  had  but  delved  its  grave. 

"  He  stole  upon  a  Nation,  in  disguise 
Of  thieves  that  prowled  by  night ;  day-lurking  spies  ; 
Plotters  who  privily  set  their  eyes  to  mark 
Her  weakness,  and  garroted  her  by  dark  ! 
The  face  of  Freedom  frightfully  they  scarred, 
That  men  should  know  her  not,  so  sadly  marred, 
And,  seeing  her  in  the  dust,  misjudge  her  stature  ; 
And,  finding  she  grew  calm,  mistake  her  nature  ! 
They  built  about  her ;  dreamed  not  she  would  stand 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  57 

Up,  terribly  tall  once  more;  and,  in  her  hand  — 
Clencht,  till  the  knuckles  whiten  with  their  grip  — 
The  sword  set  sharp  as  is  her  red-edged  lip  : 
And  in  her  eyes  the  lightnings  that  should  break 
In  blinding,  black,  irreparable  wreck:  — 
Rending  their  roof  to  heaven,  their  walls  to  earth, 
( The  sorer  travail  the  more  glorious  birth !) 
An  Earthquake  crash!  the  edifice  is  crowned, 
And  there 's  a  heap  of  ruin  on  the  ground ! 
Arise,  to  sweep  tliem  from  her  onward  path, 
Stern  as  the  Spectre  of  God's  whitest  wrath. 
Even  while  they  clatcht  the  gams  of  their  foul  play 
And  parted  them,  I  heard  the  Avengers  say,  — 
'  They  plant  in  dust  a  breath  will  blow  away, 
Although  they  wet  it  well  with  blood  to-day. 

" « Ay,  Traitor,  mount  your  topmost  pinnacle. 
-The  merry-making  heavens  would  mark  you  well, 
Where  all  the  gazers  of  the  world  may  see 
You  throned  upon  the  peak  of  infamy ! ' 
So  crooned  the  implacable  ministers  of  Fate, 
Standing  in  shadow  where  they  watch  and  wait. 

"  '  Well  done.     Now  place  the  crown  upon  your 

brow, 

With  its  brave  glitter  all  eyes  dazzle  now  : 
Lost  in  its  splendor  is  that  frightful  stain 
Branded  beneath ;  the  murder-mark  of  Cain ! ' 


58,  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

So  crooned  the  implacable  ministers  of  Fate, 
Standing  in  shadow  where  they  watch  and  wait. 


"'Well  done.     Now  fold  the  Imperial  Purple 

round, 

And  let  a  Pope's  Anointed,  robed  and  crowned, 
Thus  glorify  the  blood  so  basely  spilt ; 
Thus  image  to  all  time  the  loftiest  guilt.' 
So  crooned  the  implacable  ministers  of  Fate, 
Standing  in  shadow  where  they  watch  and  wait. 

"  '  Well  done,  thou  faithful  servant,  Hell  shall  rise 
From  half  her  thrones  to  offer  yon  their  prize, 
And  greet  your  coming ;  meet  you  with  a  kiss 
Of  benison,  for  such  a  deed  as  this  ! ' 
So  crooned  the  implacable  ministers  of  Fate, 
Standing  in  shadow  where  they  watch  and  wait." 

"  Wa's  Satan  sent  from  heaven  to  ruin  earth  ?  " 
I  asked,  "  or  what  the  story  of  his  birth  ?  " 

"  Both  heaven  and  hell  are  from  the  human  race, 
And  every  soul  projects  its  future  place : 
Long  shadows  of  ourselves  are  thrown  before, 
To  wait  our  coming  on  the  eternal  shore. 
These  either  clothe  us  with  eclipse  and  night, 
Or,  as  we  enter  them,  are  lost  in  light. 


A   TALE  OF  ETERNITY.  59 

"  There  is  no  Devil  such  as  Milton  saw  ; 
No  fallen  Angel's  eyes  divined  the  flaw 
In  God's  work,  whereby  Man  might  be  accurst. 
The  Devil  was  a  murderer  from  the  first, 
Our  Saviour  said.     But  he  was  softly  nurst 
Up  from  a  babe  in  arms.     A  little  seed 
Of  sin  was  sown  that  grew  with  little  heed. 
By  door  or  window  little  sins  will  win 
A  way  that  widens  for  the  larger  sin, 
As  tiniest  lichens  climbing  up  the  wall, 
May  lend  a  hand  to  help  the  Ivy  crawl 
That  is  to  tower  a  conqueror  over  all 
The  house  in  ruin,  crumbling  to  the  fall. 
Once,  life  is  set  in  motion  there  upspring 
Infinite  issues  from  the  smallest  thing. 
A  finger's  breadth  in  swerving  as  we  start 
May  land  us  in  the  end  two  worlds  apart. 

"  Our  parents  were  not  tempted  by  a  Tree 
That  hung  out  luscious  fruitage,  visibly 
Held  In  God's  hand,  on  purpose  to  beguile 
Their  simpleness  with  its  suggesting  smile. 
That  is  the  symbol  of  a  world  within  ; 
There  was  the  serpent  born,  there  bred  the  sin. 
The  trees  that  midmost  in  the  Garden  stood, 
Took  root  in  soul  and  blossomed  in  the  blood. 
Nor  were  they  left  without  the  inward  light, 
The  starry  presence  shining  through  your  night, 


60  A   TALE  OF  ETERNITY. 

That  shows  the  wrong  while  it  reveals  the  right ; 
The  magnet  in  the  soul  that  points  on  through 
All  tempests  and  still  trembles  to  be  true. 

"  The  still  small  voice  within  cried, 

'  Do  not  this 

Or  it  will  lead  from  me,  and  ye  will  miss 
The  innocent  brightness  of  your  morning  bliss, 
And  long  in  a  wild  wilderness  will  stray, 
Farther  and  farther  from  the  primal  way, 
Until  ye  lose  me,  darkling  in  a  cloud 
Of  your  own  making,  winding  like  a  shroud 
About  the  life  I  gave ;  nor  feel  me  near 
When  ye  do  call  and  think  there  's  none  to  hear.' 

"  And  yet  tJiey  dallied  with  the  thought  of  wrong 
Until  they  did  it :  looking  down  too  long, 
Like  him  who,  on  a  perilous  mountain  ledge, 
Gazes  upon  the  gulf,  dark  o'er  the  edge, 
Till  he  grows  dizzy  and,  with  brain  a-swim, 
Forgetting  to  look  up  —  drops  !     Or,  like  him 
Who  stood  and  watched  that  Titan,  face  to  face, 
The  vast  Steam-Hammer,  with  its  monster  mace, 
Until  the  blows  of  its  recurrent  sound 
Snapped  his  last  trembling  hold  on  things  around ; 
Mazed  him  and  drew  him  nigher,  slip  by  slip, 
To  thrust  his  hand  into  its  crushing  grip. 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  6l 

"  They  dallied  wjth  wrong-doing,  and  it  grew 

Too  strong  to  wrestle  with,  and  overthrew. 

Eyes  play  with  Pleasure  !     Looking  overmuch 

Sets  all  the  blood  a-tingle  for  the  touch  ! 

How  the  fruit  smiles,  delicious  to  the  eyes  ; 

How  quietly  the  Snake  behind  it  lies, 

With  all  his  weight  bending  the  branch  down  near  ; 

The  reptile  music,  sliding  through  the  ear, 

Winds  round  the  soul,  makes  it  a-tiptoe  stand 

With  love-sick  longing  till  it  lifts  the  hand 

To  pluck,  and  feel,  and  smell,  and  taste  just  one 

Ripe  Apple,  whose  gold  glistens  so  i'  the  sun  1 

But  one  step  over  the  forbidden  marge ; 

The  sin  so  little,  the  delight  so  large  ! 

And  there  's  the  old,  old  story  of  the  Pall, 

Eternally  repeated  for  us  all. 

"  Thus  is  the  Devil  born :  born  every  day, 
Harmless  at  first  as  toothless  whelps  at  play ; 
Is  born  in  thoughts  which  are  the  quick  live  seeds 
That  will  be  striving  to  take  shape  in  deeds: 
So  would  be  born  did  any  Pair  begin 
Afresh;  so  farm  the  protoplasm  of  Sin, 
The  pustule  raised  at  just  a  prick  of  pin ; 
The  nest-egg  which  the  Devil  is  hatched  in. 
For  Man,  the  outcome  of  Creation's  past, 
fs  flower  of  all  earth's  life  from  fast  to  last, 
No  lower  life  hath  ever  passed  away 


62  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

But  left  its  larvae  in  the  human  clay.^ 

No  reptile  of  the  slime,  no  beast  of  prey, 

But  human  passions  personate  to-day. 

And  these  break  loose  to  rend  in  deadly  strife, 

And  will  break  loose,  till,  in  the  higher  life, 

The  soul  arisen  to  her  immortal  stature . 

Leads,  Una-like,  these  strong  necessities  of  Nature. 

"  The  sin  that  sprang,  equipped  for  death,  in  Cain, 

Was  gathering  life  for  many  years ;  had  lain 

In  childhood  nestled  to  the  parent  breast, 

Who  dreamed  not  of  the  wild  beast  he  caressed 

So  gently ;  fed  on  his  own  life,  with  pride, 

The  strength  that  gored  him  in  mad  fratricide  ! 

Such  little  sins  are  fibres  to  the  root 

Of  that  which  bears  ripe  murder  for  its  fruit. 

"  To  picture  what  I  mean :  see  here,  a  Wife, 

With  bosom  just  a-brood  o'er  life-in-life, 

Who  in  a  fury-fit  snatched  up  a  knife 

And  drove  it  at  her  husband.     'T  was  a  miss 

Though  near  enough  to  hear  Death's  arrow  hiss ! 

She  had  not  dyed  her  hand  in  human  blood, 

But  she  had  dipped  her  Unborn  in  a  flood 

Of  wrath  that  surged  and  smoked  and  flashed  hell-flame ; 

Given  her  babe  baptism  in  the  Devil's  name : 

Stained  the  pure  thing  of  heaven  a  lurid  hue 

With  fume  o'  the  pit,  the  white  star  reddened  through. 

And  from  that  Mother-stricken  life  there  grew 

A  Murderer  whose  own  hand  that  Mother  slew. 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  63 

"  The  ghosts  of  our  own  crimes  long-buried  will 
Live  after  us  and  haunt  our  children  still. 
Our  vices,  hid  for  generations  past, 
Break  out  and  tell  their  secret  tale  at  last. 

"  Cain  slew  his  brother.     In  that  deed  the  Devil ' 
Took  visible  shape ;  stood  forth  erect,  as  Evil 
Full-statured,  from  the  serpent  form  of  sin 
In  which  he  had  wormed  a  way  and  wriggled  in, 
Before  he  made  a  foothold  on  the  earth. 

"  The  Murderer  died,  and  spirit-world  gave  birth 
To  a  thing  that  stained  the  stainless  in  a  cloud 
So  black  it  made  the  clear  heaven  thunder-browed; 
Death  at  the  heart,  Destruction  on  the  wing  ! 
This  was  the  spirit  of  Cain,  still  hovering 
Over  the  world,  to  rain  in  ruin  down. 
So  Tyrants  climb  to  wear  the  fatal  crown 
That  sets  them  on  a  vantage-ground,  to  tread 
A  people's  life  out  —  deal  death  overhead. 

"  From  Earth  sprang  Satan,  clothed  with  plumes  of 

power. 

But,  as  a  Bird,  in  the  death-pangs,  will  tower 
To  fall,  his  exultation  dropped  to  see 
The  loneliness  of  his  eternity  ! 
The  old  world-wall  no  longer  hemmed  him  round ; 
The  Boundless  was  his  spirit's  only  bound ; 


64  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

The  conscious  stillness  ached  upon  the  ear ; 
No  breath  of  being  stirring  far  or  near. 
A  Waste  no  wing  had  wandered,  foot  had  trod 
No  print  upon ;  a  world  left  out  by  God. 
And  he  the  only  life-beat  of  the  whole 
Illimitable  solitude  of  soul. 

"  What  wonder  he  should  turn  to  Earth  again 
And  feel  his  way  back  to  the  human ;  fain 
To  win  a  partner  that  would  share  his  pain  ? 

"  The  worst  of  Devils  feel  a  little  ease, 
Shedding  their  poison;  giving  their 'disease 
To  uninfected  souls.     And  soon  he  saw 
How  he  might  take  advantage  of  the  Law 
That  seems  to  work  so  blindly,  while  Men  draw 
Their  lots  as  blindly ;  lets  the  sunshine  fall 
On  just  and  unjust:  gives  one  chance  for  all, 
Nor  spares  the  innocent  when  the  guilty  fall ; 
How  beauty  broods  with  its  thrice-glorious  glow 
Where  Death  is  lurking  quietly  below  ! 
How  Providence  looks  on  the  side  of  Wrong 
Nine  times  in  ten  if  it  be  only  strong : 
How  unperceived  God  works  by  common  light, 
Nor  cleaves  his  cloud  to  lighten  through  our  night ; 
How  much  Man  has  to  trust  Him  —  even  for  breath 
To  feed  his  life  and  faith  to  live  through  death. 
Rare  mischief  may  be  done  ere  God  appears 


A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  65 

Himself  in  miracle.     He  so  often  hears 
The  cry  unanswered,  save  in  His  own  way 
And  season.     Here  was  scope  enough  to  play 
The  devil  with  the  appearances  of  things; 
Keep  out  of  sight  and  pull  the  puppet-strings. 

"  And,  at  the  thought,  he  waved  abroad  his  wings 

for  larger  flight,  to  spread  himself  between 

Man  and  his  Maker ;  weave  his  web  unseen, 

Right  in  the  dazzle  of  the  heavenly  light ; 

Beat  down  the  prayers  and  yearnings  in  mid-flight ; 

Make  shadows  in  the  mind  to  curtain  day 

From  the  dim  world  in  which  poor  wretches  stray : 

Put  out  in  tears  the  trembling  inner  ray 

And  lure  them  with  a  Will-o'-the-wisp  at  play 

Among  the  quagmires  waiting  by  the  way ; 

Ventriloquize  the  voice  of  God  within 

The  soul  and  in  a  guise  Angelic  win 

From  Heaven,  by  mirroring  that  heaven  in 

Death's  stream ;  make  spirits  take  the  leap  for  love 

Of  "that  false  reflex  of  the  beauty  above  ! 

"  First  Man-Slayer,  He  reached  his  ghastly  goal, 
And  then  became  first  slayer  oftlie  soul. 

"  And  doing  evil  grew  a  dear  delight, 

And  so  he  built  his  kingdom  of  the  night 

And  proudly  waxed  in  power;  his  business  thrived; 

5 


66  A   TALE  OF  ETERNITY. 

For  soon  the  Murderer  with  a  Murderess  wived, 
Whom  he  had  wooed  in  secret  many  a  day 
And  dragged  at  last  along  the  same  byway, 
To  share  with  him  the  same  blood-guilty  fate, 
And  with  fit  offspring  crown  the  loves  of  Hate. 

"  The  Devil  is  no  more  the  single  soul 
Of  that  first  Murderer;  it  is  the  whole 
Vast  aggregate  of  evil  spirits  lost; 
The  cruel  wreckers  on  that  hell-bound  coast. 
Just  as  the  person  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
May  mean  the  presence  of  a  heavenly  Host! 
Or  as  ye  say  one  spirit  moves  them  when 
One  cry  awakens  from  ten  thousand  men. 


A   TALE  OF  ETERNITY.  67 


PART    VI. 

\HIS  world  is  not  the  Devil's  merry-go- 
round 

The  Angels  of  the  Lord  are  ever  found 
Encamped  about  the  soul  that  looks  to  Him : 
They  are  an  inner  lamp  when  all  is  dim 
Without,  and  light  poor  souls  through  horrors  grim. 
Even  as  a  myriad  sunbeams  hour  by  hour 
Melt  to  make  rich  one  little  summer  flower ; 
Or  as  a  myriad  souls  of  flowers  fleet 
Aivay  to  make  a  single  summer  sweet  — 
So  many  spirits  make  one  smile  of  God 
That  feeds  your  life  transfiguring  from  its  clod. 
There  is  no  lack  of  Angel  carriers 
When  mortals  post  to  God  their  fervent  prayers! 
And  these  are  happy  in  their  work,  for  still 
They  find  their  heaven  in  doing  the  Father's  will. 
I  have  a  meat,  said  Christ,  ye  know  not  of. 
So  these—   they  carry  heaven  in  their  love. 
Not  that  the  Blessed  leave  their  happy  seat 
When  they  draw  near  ye  upon  silent  feet. 
They  do  not  need  to  thread  their  starry  way 
Through  worlds  of  night,  or  wilderness  of  day 


68  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

Spirit  to  Spirit  hath  not  far  to  run, 
Because  in  God  all  souls  are  verily  one 
Throughout  att  worlds :  there  are  no  watts  of  Space 
Where  all  eternity  is  dwelling  place. 

"  Distance  is  nothing  in  the  world  of  Thought ; 

And  in  the  world  of  Spirit  it  is  naught. 

You  hear  of  dying  men  whose  souls  have  been 

Present  with  distant  friends ;  most  surely  seen 

Before  the  breathing  ceased ;  for  they  were  there 

In  Thought  so  fixed,  intense,  that,  on  the  air, 

Their  lineaments  the  utter  yearning  wrought, 

In  spiritual  apparition  of  their  thought, 

Till  they  grew  visible.     This  Murderer  dwells 

In  Spirit  where  his  Thought  is  —  hottest  Hell 's 

For  him  where  his  infernal  deed  was  done  ! 

The  blood  so  safely  hidden  from  the  sun 

Hath  stained  right  through  beyond  this  world  of  time, 

Red  to  the  other  side,  with  his  old  crime. 

He  does  not  merely  come  and  go ;  he  is 

All  presence  to  the  proofs  and  witnesses. 

"  Spirits  may  touch  you,  being,  as  you  would  say, 

A  hundred  tJwusand  million  miles  away. 

Those  wires  that  wed  the  Old  World  with  the  New, 

Are  not  the  only  links  Mind  lightens  through  ! 

The  Angels,  singing  in  their  heaven  above, 

Feel  when  ye  strike  the  unison  of  love. 


A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  69 

The  prayers  of  heaven  fall  in  a  blessed  rain, 
On  souls  that  parch  in  purgatorial  pain. 
And  prayers  from  earth  lift,  with  a  sense  of  wings, 
Poor  souls  that  drift  as  helpless  outcast  things. 

"  A  luminiferous  ether  of  the  soul 
Pervades  tJie  universe,  and  makes  the  whole 
Vast  realm  of  Being  one ;  —  all  breathing  breath 
Of  the  same  life  that  is  fulfilled  in  death. 
And  human  spirits,  from  their  earthy  bound, 
Can  thrill  the  Immortals,  in  their  crystal  round, 
Like  ^flames  that  rise  and  answer  a  sweet  sound : 
And  set  the  farthest  heavens  vibrating, 
As  air  will  dance  close  to  a  live  harp-string. 

"  Thus  Jesus  warned  you  that  His  Little  Ones  — 
Nestled  like  smallest  planets  next  their  Suns  — 
Are  nearest  God's  great  Angels,  whose  high  place 
Permits  them  to  behold  the  Father's  face, 
With  whom  there  is  no  distance  known  to  sense. 
Heaven  is  most  near  to  utmost  innocence. 

"  God,  the  Creator,  doth  not  sit  aloof, 

As  in  a  picture  painted  on  the  roof, 

Occasionally  looking  down  from  thence. 

He  is  all  presence  and  all  providence  ; 

Sentient  in  whatsoever  life  may  draw 

Breath  from  Him,  and,  beyond,  sentient  in  law. 


70  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

He  "doth  not  sit  at  one  end  of  the  chain 

Of  Being,  thrilling  it  now  and  again ; 

He  who  is  Being  and  doth  bound  and  bind 

Its  particles  in  the  Eternal  Mind. 

Outside  His  providence  we  cannot  stand. 

His  presence  makes  the  smallest  room  expand 

Wider  than  wings  of  day  and  Night  e'er  fanned. 

I  who  am  here,  his  Messenger,  to-night, 

But  bring  that  presence  to  a  point  in  light. 

We  are  the  agencies,  the  living  laws, 

Whereby  creation  is  eternal  Cause. 

"  This  human  life  is  no  mere  looking-glass, 

In  which  God  sees  His  shadows  as  ye  pass. 

He  did  not  start  the  pendulum  of  Time, 

To  go  by  Law,  with  one  great  swing  sublime  ; 

Resting  Himself  in  lonely  joy  apart : 

But  to  each  pulse  of  life  is  beating  heart. 

And,  as  a  Father  sensitive,  is  stirred 

By  falling  sparrow,  or  heart-winged  word. 

"  As  the  Babe's  life  within  the  Parent's,  dim 
And  deaf,  ye  dwell  in  God,  a-dream  of  Him. 
Ye  stir  and  put  forth  feelers  which  are  claspt 
By  airy  hands  and  higher  life  is  graspt. 
As  yet  but  darkly.     Life  is  in  the  root 
And  looking  heavenward,  from  the  ladder-foot, 
Wingless  as  worms,  with  earthiness  fast  bound, 


A    TALE  OF  ETERNITY.  7l 

Up  which  ye  mount  but  slowly,  round  on  round.  " 
Long  climbing  brings  ye  to  the  Father's  knee  ; 
Ye  open  gladsome  eyes  at  last  to  see 
That  face  of  Love  ye  felt  so  inwardly. 

"  In  this  vast  universe  of  worlds  no  waif 
Of  spirit  looks  to  him  but  floateth  safe. 
No  prayer  so  lowly  but  is  heard  on  high  ; 
And  if  a  soul  should  sigh,  and  lift  an  eye, 
He  keeps  that  soul  from  sinking  with  a  sigh. 

"  All  life,  down  to  the  worm  beneath  the  sod, 
Hath  spiritual  relationships  to  God  — 
The  Life  of  Life,  the  love  of  all,  in  all; 
Lord  of  the  large  and  infinitely  small. 

"  Birds  find  their  home  across  the  pathless  sea 

By  ~io  hereditary  memory. 

From  land  to  land  they  move,  their  way  illumed 

By  the  inflowing  Love  that  bore  them,  plumed 

For  flight,  through  which  the  Mother  Bird  is  taught 

To  know  which  youngling  had  the  last  worm  brought ; 

The  Insect  led  to  garner  food  in  nook 

For  young,  on  which  it  never  lives  to  look. 

"  The  veriest  atoms,  even  as  worlds  above, 
Are  bridal  chambers  of  creative  Love, 
Quick  with  the  motion  that  suspends  the  whole 


72  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

Of  Matter  spiral-spinning  toward  Soul. 
And  nothing  is,  but  groping  turns  to  Him, 
Like  babe  to  bosom,  though  the  sight  be  dim : 
Nothing  but  what  reflects  in  some  faint  wise 
The  image  that  is  God  in  Angel  eyes  — 
The  Infinite  One,  whose  likeness  we  but  see 
Glassed  in  the  Infinite  of  variety: 
Just  as  the  waters  fix  a  fluttering  beam, 
Caught  in  this  chamber,  and,  with  golden  gleam, 
Throw  on  the  ceiling,  limned  in  little,  one 
Pale  image  of  the  glory  of  the  Sun! 

"  No  seed  of  life  blown  down  a  dark  abysm 

Of  earth  or  sea  but  feds  the  magnetism 

That  draws  us  Godward  !     Flowers  sunk  in  mines, 

Or  plants  in  ocean,  where  no  sunbeam  shines, 

Will,  blindly  climb  up  toward  THEIR  Deity, 

Far  off"  in  Heaven,  whom  they  can  never  see. 

"  There  is  a  Spirit  of  Life  within  the  Tree 

That 's  fed  and  clothed  from  Heaven  continually, 

And  does  not  draw  all  nourishment  from  earth. 

It  puts  a  myriad  tender  feelers  forth, 

That  breathe  in  heaven  and  turn  the  breath  to  sap  : 

In  every  leaf  it  spreads  a  tiny  lap 

To  take  its  manna  from  the  hand  of  God 

And  gather  force  for  fingers  'neath  the  sod 

To  clutch  the  earth  with ;  moulds,  from  sun  and  rain 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  73 

Its  leaves ;  with  spirit-life  feeds  every  vein 

And  through  each  vein  makes  wood  for  bough  and  bark : 

Girth  for  the  bole  and  rootage  down  the  dark. 

"  So  Man  is  fed  by  God  and  lives  in  Him : 
Not  merely  nourished  by  his  rootage  dim 
In  afar  Past;  a  dead  world  underground, 
But  spirit  to  spirit  reaches  Heaven  all  round. 

"  Creative  heat  is  current  in  the  soul 

From  ages  past,  like  sunshine  in  the  coal, 

Some  fire  of  heaven  in  fossil  stored  away, 

But  spirit-life  yet  kindles  at  the  ray 

Warm  from  our  Sun  that  shines  in  heaven  to-day  ! 

"  Not  in  one  primal  Man  before  the  Fall 
Did  God  set  life  a-breathing  once  for  all. 
He  is  the  breath  of  life  from  first  to  last; 
He  liveth  in  the  Present  as  the  Past. 
But  ye,  like  rowers,  turn  your  eyes  behind ; 
Ye  look  Without  and  vainly  feel  to  find 
Raised  in  relief,  like  letters  for  the  blind, 
The  substance  of  that  Glory  in  the  mind. 

"  Hints  of  the  higher  life,  the  better  day, 
Visit  the  human  soul,  outlining  aye 
The  perfect  statue  now  rough-cast  in  clay ; 
And  with  a  mournful  sigh  ye  think  and  say 


74  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

'  This  is  the  type  that  was,  and  passed  away  ! ' 
God  holds  a  flower  to  you,  it  only  yields 
The  fragrance  fading  from  forgotten  fields. 
'  Ah,  only  Eden  could  have  wafted  it ! ' 
Immortal  imagery  His  hand  hath  writ 
Within  ye  is  with  revelation  lit 
By  secret  shinings  of  the  Infinite. 
'  These  are  but  glimmers  of  a  glory  gone ! ' 
/  tell  you  they  are  prophecies  of  dawn 
And  glimpses  of  a  life  that  still  goes  on. 
Man  hath  not  fall' n  from  Heaven,  nor  been  cast 
Out  from  some  Golden  Age  lived  in  the  Past! 
His  fall  is  from  the  possible  Life  before  him : 
His  fall  is  from  the  Crown  of  Life  held  o'er  him. 
Ye  stoop  by  Corpse-light,  groping  on  the  ground, 
And  lo  !  the  living  God,  a-shine  all  round  ! 
Even  while  I  speak  there  is  a  quickening, 
The  unrest  of  a  world  that  feels  the  spring; 
The  crust  o'  the  Letter  cracks ;  new  life  takes  wing  ; 
A  strong  ground-swell  will  heave,  a  wave  will  break, 
The  Eternal  grows  more  visibly  awake. 

"  Upon  the  verge  of  sunrise  ye  but  stand  — 
The  door  of  life  just  open  in  your  hand. 
Behind  you  is  the  slip  of  space  ye  passed ; 
Before  you  an  illimitable  vast. 
Not  backward  point  the  foot-prints  that  ye  trace 
Of  those  who  ran  the  foremost  in  the  race, 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  75 

With  light  of  God  full-shining  on  their  face! 
Look  up,  as  Children  of  the  Light,  and  see 
That  ye  are  bound  FOR  immortality, 
Not  passing  FROM  it :  Heirs  of  Heaven  ye, 
Not  Exiles.     God  reverses  human  growth 
For  spirits ;  they  go  ripening  toward  youth 
Forever.     The  fair  Garden  that  still  gleams 
Across  the  desert,  miraged  in  your  dreams, 
Smiles  from  the  spirit,  rather  than  the  sod, 
WJierever  hallowed  feet  of  Love  have  trod; 
Wherever  souls  yet  walk  and  talk  with  God. 
And  Heaven  is  as  near  Earth  now  as  when 
The  Angels  visibly  conversed  with  Men. 
The  Holy  Dove  that  came  to  brighten  down 
Over  the  head  of  Christ,  a  heaven-dropt  crown, 
Now  broods  within ;  it  is  the  bosom-dove,  — 
It  croons  the  music  in  the  voice  of  Love. 
'Necth  human  roofs  still  sloopeth  the  Divine 
•  Closer  than  ever;  makes  the  heart  its  shrine. 

"  God  hath  been  gradually  forming  Man 
In  His  own  image  since  the  world  began, 
And  is  forever  working  on  the  soid, 
Like  Sculptor  on  his  Statue,  till  the  whole 
Expression  of  the  upward  life  be  wrought 
Into  some  semblance  of  the  Eternal  Thought. 
Race  after  Race  hath  'caught  its  likeness  of 
The  Maker  as  the  eyes  grew  large  with  love. 


76  A   TALE  OF  ETERNITY. 

But  in  one  face  alone  ye  look  to  see 
The  possible  image  smiling  perfectly. 

"  Christ's  was  a  conscious  Birthday  of  the  Soul. 
Thenceforth  the  world  on  a  broader  gauge  could  roll 
Out  of  old  ruts :  Man  glimpse  his  glorious  goal, 
And  leave  the  desert  byways,  darkly  trod, 
Heart-haunted  by  some  gory  ghost  of  God, 
And  Faith,  exulting  on  its  heavenward  way, 
Feel  every  dark  should  end  at  last  in  day. 
No  more  vain  searchings  through  the  starry  dome, 
With  vague  blind  yearnings  for  one  hint  of  Home  ! 
In  Him  ye  see  the  Type  Man  climbs  up  to ;  • 
The  Model  God  is  working  from  through  you  ! 
In  Him  ye  have  the  nearest  likeness  given 
On  Earth  of  that  hid  face  which  is  in  heaven. 

"  You  ask  me  '  how  the  lamp  of  life  burns  on 
When  all  that  visibly  fed  the  flame  is  gone  ? ' 

"  Man  does  not  live  alone  by  visible  breath, 
And  He  who  brings  to  life  will  lead  through  death. 
Wait  yet  a  little  while  and  ye  shall  see 
The  flame  was  breathed  on ;  fed  invisibly  : 
And  that  its  motion  springs  with  force  seven-fold 
When  the  life-heat  is  clasht  against  Death's  cold. 

"  You  think  of  spirit  as  prison-walled  about 
By  substance,  wondering  how  it  can  get  out ! 


A    TALE   OF  ETEENITY.  77 

But  to  my  vision  radiates  the  soul 
Through  body ;  by  its  pulses  lights  the  whole 
With  life,  and  makes  it  luminous  as  the  glass 
Through  which  you  see  but  only  in  spirit  pass. 
The  wee  babe  nestled  in  the  Mother's  lap, 
Feels  her  soul  radiate  in  love  and  wrap 
It  softly  in  the  very  heart  of  bliss, 
And  draw  all  heaven  through  if  in  a  kiss 

"  As  chalk  is  formed  at  bottom  of  the  sea 

From  life  that  sheds  its  shell  continually ; 

As  bones  are  built  up  out  of  life's  decag, 

The  body  is  shaped  of  substance  sloughed  away 

From  soul  in  ripening :  'tis  a  husk  which  yields 

The  earthy  scaffold  whereby  spirit  builds 

Its  heavenly  house,  that  stands  when  the  world-crust 

Is  made  of  dropt  and  perisht  human  dust. 

Spirit  is  Lord  and  Master  at  the  death, 

As  in  beginning,  of  its  house  of  breath. 

"  Man  does  not  live  alone  by  hunger  and  drouth, 

But  by  the  breath  which  kindles  from  God's  mouth: 

'T  is  breathing  spirit  makes  the  body  breathe, 

And  sets  in  outer  type  the  life  beneath. 

So  print  makes  visible  the  unseen  thought 

To  pass  away,  the  miracle  being  wrought. 

Life  is  an  inner  energy,  unfurled 

In  visible  shows  from  an  invisible  world ; 


78  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

Still  fed  and  fed  from  that  almighty  force 

Of  which  no  science  yet  hath  grasped  the  source, 

Whose  infant  germ  from  the  dead  seed  reborn, 

Is  greater  than  a  realm  of  ripened  com. 

Like  worlds  warmed  into  being  by  their  Sun, 

Ye  are  embodied  by  the  rays  that  run 

Mysteriously  across  a  gulf  of  night ; 

A  bridge  of  spirit  laid  in  beams  of  light. 

And  that  which  is  the  centre  of  the  blaze 

Trawls  in  life  unseen  along  the  rays. 

The  look  will  pass ;  the  living  Mind  work  on ; 

The  Visible  fades ;  still  shines  the  Eternal  sun. 

"  I  tell  you  these  things  are :  I  may  not  show 
You  how :  there  's  much  the  senses  cannot  know. 
Who  knows  the  links  of  that  invisible  chain 
Which  runs  from  soul  to  soul,  from  brain  to  brain, 
Wliereby  thought  passes  into  other  thought, 
And  out  of  sound  its  silent  shape  is  wrought  ? 
You  see  the  miracle  done  before  your  eyes, 
And  in  the  flash  of  spirit  to  spirit  dies 
The  common  daylight :  visual  sense  is  blind 
To  see  how  Matter  is  made  quick  by  Mind. 
And  there  's  a  power  in  tJte  hidden  soul 
To  pass  in  at  the  eyes  .and  print  its  whole 
Self,  in  a  picture  finished  infinitely 
Beyond  the  portrait  that  the  eyes  can  see. 
Eyes  ne'er  behold  your  own  souls  face  to  face: 
Your  real  selves  invisibly  embrace. 


A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  79 

"  You  know  not  how  a  prayer  ascends  to  God. 

You  saw  no  ladder  Anyel-feet  e'er  trod 

In  answer ;  hear  no  door  turn  on  the  hinge 

When  heaven  opens,  or  the  hells  impinge 

Upon  the  soul  w'dh  their  suggestion  dark. 

The  Devil  tempts,  but  how  you  cannot  mark  : 

The  bridge  is  still  invisible  that  doth  span 

Your  known  and  unknown :  reach  from  God  to  Man. 

"  With  labors  infinite  your  Science  seeks 

Footing  on  inaccessible  cloud-peaks. 

Yet,  must  the  Climbers  know  that  there  are  things 

Only  attainable  at  last  with  wings. 

That  skies  will  not  be  scaled  howe'er  they  clasp 

The  solid  rock ;  that  heaven  still  mocks  their  grasp. 

On  these  they  may  not  speak  the  final  word. 

On  these  the  great  Hereafter  must  be  heard. 

At  best  Man  doth  but  darkly  draw  his  light : 

Each  step  ye  take,  each  secret  wrest  from  Night, 

Must  furnish  food  for  faith  as  welt  as  sight. 

"  The  more  ye  feel  the  chain  whereby  ye  are  spanned, 
The  more  its  missing  links  elude  the  hand. 
So  Saturn's  perfect  rings,  when,  closer  seen, 
Are  broken  with  dark  gaps  of  night  between! 
Nor  can  ye  more  than  mark  the  Visible  shine 
And  in  the  gloom  accept  the  Hand  Divine. 


8o  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

"  Live  fruitfully  the  life  ye  may  possess 
With  rootage  beyond  reach  of  consciousness, 
And  wait  till  the  Unseen  in  flower  blows. 

"  To  find  what  gems  lie  hidden  where  it  grows 
Ye  must  not  pluck  the  plant  up  by  the  root. 
Wait  till  its  treasures  hang  in  precious  fruit. 

"  There  is  no  pathway  Man  hath  ever  trod 

By  faith  or  seeking  sight  but  ends  in  God. 

Yet 't  is  in  vain  ye  look  Without  to  find 

The  inner  secrets  of  the  Eternal  Mind, 

Or  meet  the  King  on  His  external  Throne. 

But  when  ye  kneel  at  heart,  and  fed  so  lone, 

Perchance  behind  the  veil  you  get  the  grip 

And  spirit-sign  of  secret  fellowship ; 

Silently  as  the  gathering  of  a  tear 

The  human  want  will  bring  the  helper  near. 

The  very  weakness,  that  is  utterest  need 

Of  God,  will  draw  Him  down  with  strength  indeed. 

"  Enough  to  know  ye  live  because  He  lives  ! 
And  love,  because  in  love  Himself  He  gives  1 
The  gift  is  ever  held  sufficient  sign 
There  is  a  Giver  !     And  if  it  be  Divine 
And  like  the  Heaven  ye  dream,  but  may  not  see, 
Giver  Divine  and  Heaven  there  must  be. 


A    TALE  OF  ETERNITY.  8l 

"  Lean  nearer  to  the  Heart  that  beats  through  night : 
Its  curtain  of  the  dark  your  veil  of  light. 
Peace  Halcyon-like  to  perfect  Faith  is  given, 
And  it  can  float  on  a  reflected  Heaven 
Surely  as  Knowledge  that  doth  rest  at  last 
Isled  on  its  '  ATOM '  in  the  unfathomed  vast 
Life-ocean,  heaving  through  the  infinite, 
From  out  whose  dark  the  shows  of  being  flit, 
In  flashes  of  the  climbing  wave's  white  crest; 
Some  few  a  moment  luminous  o'er  the  rest ! " 


The  voice  ceased :  the  form  faded  in  the  beam 
Of  dawn,  that  swam  down  like  the  gladsome  gleam 
Of  heaven  to  him  who  struggles,  nearly  drowned, 
And  draws  him  lifeward  from  the  gulf  profound, 
And  melts  to  a  gold  mist  the  dim  green  round. 


82  -A   TALE  OF  ETERNITY. 


PART    VII.      , 

||HO  hath  not  marked  how  graciously  the 

Dawn 
Comes  smiling  when  some  stormy  night 

hath  gone  ? 
As  Beauty  lifts  the  heaven  of  her  eyes 
Full  on  you  large  with  their  serene  surprise 
That  you  should   dream   such  gentleness   could 

dart 

The  looks  that  hurt  yon  to  the  rery  heart ! 
Calm  eyes,  that  through  luxurious  reaches  roll 
The  richness  of  their  rest  on  the  vext  soul. 

So  comes  the  Morning ;  new  heavens  rise  above, 
And  open  wider  arms  of  larger  love 
Than  ever :  glad  blue  Ether,  with  the  bliss 
Of  sunshine,  laughs  and  kindles  at  its  kiss. 
There  lie  the  tears  of  tempest,  softly-bright 
As  Heaven  had  only  rained  in  drops  of  light. 
The  air,  an  overflow  of  Heaven's  own  balm, 
Naught  but  Earth's  music  breaks  the  divine  calm. 

Yet  that  same  Morning  looks  on  ruin  and  wreck, 
And  soothes  a  sea  that  lifeless  swept  the  deck 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  83 

Of  some  proud  ship,  and  glorifies  the  wave 
That  landward  heaves  the  mariner's  glassy  grave  ; 
Playfully  rippling,  shoaling  goldenly  o'er 
Dead  seamen  dimly  drifting  to  the  shore  ! 
Terribly  innocent,  Morning  laughs  on  high, 
While  Ocean  rocks  them  with  its  lullaby. 

So  came  the  Morning,  smiling,  crowned  with  calm, 
After  my  night  of  trouble,  breathing  balm. 
Fair  Earth  with  all  her  night-long  tearful  eyes 
A-sparkle  with  the  soul  of  the  sunrise  ! 
On  every  blade  there  hung  a  drop  of  dew, 
And  every  drop  a  live  star  shimmered  through  : 
All  phantoms  of  the  night  by  shadowy  stealth 
Retired  with  Darkness  from  our  world  of  health  ; 
All  life  unshrouded,  to  Heaven's  influence  bare, 
Took  wings  of  morning  in  the  open  air. 
Our  world,  a  warm  safe  nest  of  happy  souls, 
Basked  in  the  brightness  as  the  lily  lolls 
Her  bosomed  softness  on  the  sunny  stream, 
Whose  ripples  lip  her  where  she  lies  a-dream. 
The  stream,  that  crept  a  river  of  death  by  night, 
Full  of  dark  secrets,  ran  a  river  of  light ! 
Such  sense  of  rest  to  all  glad  things  was  given, 
As  earth  were  cradle  of  the  peace  of  heaven. 
A  more  than  common  freshness  fed  the  breath 
Of  sweet  new  life ;  there  was  no  taint  of  death. 
My  nightmare  over,  I  would  dream  no  more 


84  A   TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

Of  murder  and  the  charnel  at  life's  core  ; 

Or  nameless  creatures  that  may  haunt  old  graves 

Bat-like,  and  flit  from  out  lone,  twilight  caves. 

Green  earth,  glad  heaven,  gayly  vied  to  win 

Thought  out-of-doors,  yet  would  it  brood  within. 

Sullen  and  shy  as  fish  that  will  not  rise 

To  any  tempting  lure  of  feathered  flies, 

But  haunt  the  pool  where,  horribly  quiet,  lies 

A  dead  child,  with  its  wide-awake  blue  eyes. 

Lonely  I  wandered  in  my  garden-ground, 

Musing  on  Life,  the  Death's-head  rosily  crowned, 

And  of  the  mystery  that  clouds  us  round, 

And  of  the  mournful  possibility 

That,  in  some  blindness,  we  may  lose  the  key 

Which  to  the  keeping  of  each  soul  is  given 

To  ope  the  door,  and  so  be  shut  from  Heaven  ; 

Raking  the  ashes  and  the  dust  of  death, 

Long  after  we  have  done  with  human  breath  ; 

And  of  the  features  printed  on  my  brain 

In  vision  that  would  evermore  remain, 

And,  any  instant,  sinister  and  swart 

From  out  the  light,  at  turn  of  eye,  might  start ; 

And  I  should  see  him !  as  'neath  the  Tunnel's  arc, 

Where,  down  the  shaft,  day  lightens  through  the 

dark, 
Some  chosen  victim  momently  may  mark 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  85 

His  murderer,  with  those  snaky  eyes  at  work 
Fixed  on  him  ;  in  whose  spark  malignant  lurk 
Cold  fires  of  death  drawn  inward  for  the  spring ; 
The  dagger  flash  leaps  in  their  glittering  ! 

So,  till  its  horrors  almost  lived  to  sight, 

My  spirit  brooded  o'er  the  bygone  night ; 

Reflecting  all  the  strife  in  upper  air, 

As  you  have  seen,  by  some  sea-margin,  where 

The  circling  sea-bird  hovers,  dreamily  slow, 

In  likeness  of  the  wave  that  sways  below, 

The  Spirit  of  its  motion  on  the  wing  : 

Over  that  night  my  mind  kept  hovering. 

At  length  the  growing  image  of  my  thought 

To  some  such  final  shape  as  this  was  wrought  — 

From  end  to  end  of  things  we  may  not  see, 
Nor  square  the  circle  of  Eternity  ; 
But,  I  cannot  believe  in  endless  hell 
And  heaven  side  by  side.     How  could  I  dwell 
Among  the  saved,  for  thinking  of  the  Lost  ? 
With  such  a  lot  the  Blest  would  suffer  most. 
Sitting  at  feast  all  in  a  Golden  Home, 
That  towered  over  dungeon-grates  of  Doom, 
My  heart  would  ache  for  all  the  lost  that  go 
To  wail  and  weep  in  everlasting  woe  : 
Through  all  the  music  I  must  hear  the  moan, 
Too  sharp  for  all  the  harps  of  Heaven  to  drown. 


86  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

I  cannot  think  of  Life  apart  from  Him 

Who  is  the  life,  from  cell  to  Seraphim ; 

And,  if  Hell  flame  unquenchably,  must  be 

The  life  of  hell  to  all  eternity ! 

A  God  of  love  must  expiate  the -stain 

Of  Sin  Himself,  by  suffering  endless  pain  ; 

Sit  with  eternal  desolation  round 

His  feet ;  his  head  with  happy  heavens  crowned. 

From  Him  the  strength  immortal  must  be  sent, 

By  which  the  soul  could  bear  the  punishment. 

I  cannot  think  He  gave  us  power  to  wring 

From  one  brief  life  eternal  suffering : 

If  this  were  so  the  Heavens  must  surely  weep, 

Till  Hell  were  drowned  in  one  salt  vast,  sea-deep. 

Forgive  me,  Lord,  if  wrongly  I  divine ; 

I  dare  not  think  Thy  pity  less  than  mine. 

I  cannot  image  Heaven  as  Triumph-Car, 
That  rolleth  red  and  reeking  from  the  war, 
Upborne  on  wheels  of  torture  whirling  round 
With  writhing  souls  forever  broke  and  bound ! 

God  save  me  from  that  Heaven  of  the  Elect, 
Who  half  rejoice  to  count  the  numbers  wreckt. 
Because,  such  full  weight  to  the  balance  given, 
Sends  up  the  scale  that  lands  them  surely  in  heaven, 
And  the  proud  Saved,  exulting,  rise  the  higher, 
The  lower  that  the  Lost  sink  in  hell-fire. 


X 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  87 

I  think  Heaven  will  not  shut  forevermore, 

Without  a  knocker  left  upon  the  door, 

Lest  some  belated  Wanderer  should  come 

Heart-broken,  asking  just  to  die  at  home, 

So  that  the  Father- will  at  last  forgive, 

And  looking  on  His  face  that  soul  shall  live. 

I  think  there  will  be  Watchmen  through  the  night, 

Lest  any,  afar  off,  turn  them  to  the  light ; 

That  He  who  loved  us  into  life  must  be 

A  Father  infinitely  Fatherly, 

And,  groping  for  Him,  these  shall  find  their  way 

From  outer  dark,  through  twilight,  into  day. 

I  could  not  joy  for  Harvest  gathered  in, 
If  any  souls,  like  tares  and  twitch  of  sin, 
Were  flung  out  by  the  Farmer  to  the  fire, 
Whose  smoke  of  torment,  rising  high  and  higher, 
Should  fill  the  universe  forevermore, 
While  we  with  glad  feet  trod  the  crystal  floor 
Through  which  the  damned  lookt  up  at  Paradise, 
Forever  fixed,  like  fishes  frozen  in  ice. 

I  could  not  sing  the  song  of  Harvest  Home, 
Thinking  of  those  poor  souls  that  never  come ; 
Such  mournful  eyes  from  out  their  night  would 

gleam 

And  haunt  forever  all  my  happy  dream ! 
Such  tears,  —  lost  jewels  that  flash  God-ward,  in 
The  dark,  down-trodden  Toad-like  head  of  sin ! 


88  A   TALE  OF  ETERNITY. 

The  New  World's  poorest  emigrant  will  lend 
A  kindly  hand  to  help  a  poorer  friend. 
And  I  must  pray  to  God  from  out  my  bliss 
For  those  who  were  beyond  all  help  but  His,  — 
Pray  and  repray,  the  same  old  prayer  anew ; 
Forgive  them,  Lord,  they  know  not  what  they  do. 
Because  they  were  so  utterly  accurst, 
Self-doomed,  that  bitterness  would  be  the  worst. 
O,  look  down  on  them,  from  Thy  place  above, 
The  look  of  pity,  Lord,  half-way  to  love ! 

Mere  human  love,  in  this,  its  narrow  sphere, 
Can  never  think  of  those  it  once  held  dear, 
Who,  down  the  darkened  way  will  pull  apart, 
But  with  a  pitying  eye ;  an  aching  heart, 
And  still,  as  less  the  beckoning  hand  they  heed, 
The  strength  of  Love  grows  with  their  greater  need ; 
The  less  they  heed,  the  more  it  yearns  to  save. 
And  shall  this  love  be  dwarfed  beyond  the  grave, 
To  lose,  on  wings,  its  feet-attained  height  ? 
Better  its  blindness,  than  the  eye  of  light 
That  coldly  down,  on  endless  hell  could  glance, 
With  all  its  mortal  sympathies  in  trance. 

Or  will  some  Lethean  wave  the  soul  caress, 
And  numb  it  into  dull  forgetfulness ; 
Washing  away  all  memory  of  distress 
That  others  feel,  while  we  but  lift  the  hand 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  89 

To  pluck  and  eat  the  lotus  of  the  land, 
And  those  far  wailings  of  the  world  of  tears 
Come  mellowed  into  music  for  our  ears, 
With  just  the  zestful  dash  of  discord  given, 
That     makes    the    pleasure     pungent  —  perfects 
Heaven  ? 

'T  is  hard  to  read  the  Handwriting  Divine ; 

The  vanishing  up-stroke  so  invisibly  fine  ! 

There  must  be  issues  that  we  do  not  see. 

The  whole  horizon  of  Futurity 

Is  nowise  visible  from  where  we  stand  ; 

We  are  but  dwellers  in  a  lowly  land. 

We  think  the  sun  doth  set,  the  sun  doth  rise, 

And  yet  our  world  's  but  turning  in  the  skies. 

Seen  from  our  lower  level  there  must  pass 

Mysteries,  so  high  and  starry,  we  but  glass 

Them  darkly,  as  we  strain  our  mortal  sight, 

While  'twixt  our  souls  and  them  there  stands  the 

night. 

And  then  we  scratch  upon  our  window-pane, 
Dimming  its  clearness,  and  we  are  so  fain 
To  read  our  own  imaginations  fond, 
For  the  true  figures  of  the  world  beyond. 
We  model  from  the  human  life,  and  so 
Feature  the  future  from  the  face  we  know. 
'T  is  always  sunless  one  side  of  our  globe, 
And  thus  we  fashion  the  Eternal's  robe 


90  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

God  made  Man  in  His  image,  but  our  plan  'a 
To  mould  and  make  God's  image  in  the  Man's, 
And  if  my  thought  he  human  as  the  rest, 
At  least  the  likeness  shall  be  Man's  at  best. 
Too  long  hath  Calvin's  spectrum  sacrificed, 
Smoke-hued  with  hell,  the   pure   white  light  of 
Christ ! 

Our  Science  grasps  with  its  transforming  hand ; 
Makes  real,  half  the  tales  of  wonder-land. 
We  turn  the  deathliest  fetor  to  perfume ; 
We  give  decay  new  life  and  rosy  bloom  ; 
Change  filthy  rags  to  paper  virgin  white ; 
Make  pure  in  spirit  what  was  foul  to  sight. 
Even  dead,  recoiling  force,  to  a  fairy  gift 
Of  help  is  turned,  and  taught  to  deftly  lift. 
How  can  we  think  God  hath  no  crucible 
Save  that  Black  Country  of  a  burning  Hell  ? 
Or  the  great  ocean  of  Almighty  power, 
No  scope  to  take  the  life-stream  from  our  shore, 
Muddy  and  dark,  and  make  it  pure  once  more  ? 

Dear  God,  it  seems  to  me  that  Love  must  be 
The  Missionary  of  Eternity  ! 
Must  still  find  work,  in  worlds  beyond  the  grave, 
So  long  as  there  's  a  single  soul  to  save  ; 
Must,  from  the  highest  heaven,  yearn  to  tell 
Thy  message ;  be  the  Christ  to  some  dark  hell ; 


A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY.  91 

That  all  divergent  lines  at  length  will  meet 

To  make  the  clasping  round  of  Love  complete ; 

The  rift  'twixt  Sense  and  Spirit  will  be  healed, 

Ere  the  Redeemer's  work  be  crowned  and  sealed  ; 

Evil  shall  die  like  dung  about  the  root 

Of  Good,  or  climb  converted  into  fruit ! 

The  discords  cease,  and  all  their  strife  shall  be 

Resolved  in  one  vast  peaceful  harmony  : 

That  all  these  accidents  of  Time  and  breath 

Shall  bear  no  black  seal  of  a  Second  Death  : 

That,  freed  from  branding  heats  that  burn  ia  Time, 

The  lost  Black  Race  shall  whiten  in  that  clime : 

All  blots  of  error  bleacht  in  Heaven's  sight ; 

All  life's  perplexing  colors  lost  in  light : 

That  Thou  hast  power  to  work  out  every  stain, 

That  purifying  is  the  end  of  Pain  ; 

And,  waking,  we  shall  know  what  we  but  dream 

Dimly,  that  punishment  is  to  redeem ; 

And  here,  or  There,  the  penitent  thrill  must  leaven 

The  earthiest  soul  and  wing  it  toward  Heaven  ; 

That  when  the  angel-Reapers  shall  up-sheave 

The  harvest,  Angel-Gleaners  will  not  leave 

One  least  small  grain  of  good  —  and  there  are 

none 

So  evil  but  some  precious  germ  lives  on,  — 
The  grimiest  gutter  crawling  by  the  way 
Still  hath  its  reflex  of  the  face  of  Day ;  — 
And  all  the  seeds  divine  foredoomed  by  fate 


92  A    TALE   OF  ETERNITY. 

To  bear  blind  blossoms  here  shall  germinate 
And  have  another  chance,  in  other  place, 
Where  tears  of  gratitude  and  dews  of  grace 
Shall  warm  and  quicken  to  the  feeblest  root, 
Till  in  Thy  garden  they  are  ripe  for  fruit. 
So  shall  we  find  the  Dark  of  our  old  Earth 
Twin  with  the  eternal  Daylight  from  the  birth, 
And  trodden  in  the  grave-dust  we  shall  see 
This  serpent-symbol  of  Eternity 
That  only  maketh  ends  meet,  head  and  tail, 
A  world  all  blessing  with  a  world  all  bale. 

Thus,  in   its   maze,  my  mind   went   round   and 

round,  — 

Like  him,  lost  in  the  Bush,  who  thought  he  found 
The  pathway  that  he  sought,  because  he  beat 
His  track  with  constant  tread  of  his  own  feet.  — 
As  round  the  dew-drencht  garden-walks  I  went 
Till,  pausing,  all  unconscious  of  intent, 
Nigh  where  a  greenery  of  Syringas  grew 
And,  shedding  shadow  round,  there  leaned  a  Yew, — 
Sombrely  ancient  watcher  by  the  tomb  ! 
A  Nest  of  Thrushes  the  live  heart  o'  the  gloom ; 
I  saw  the  earth  was  crackt,  where  recent  rain 
Had  crusht  and  crumbled  in  a  new-made  drain, 
And  human  bones  were  plainly  peering  through, 
As  if  Death  grinned  and  showed  a  tooth  or  two  ! 
I  searcht,  and,  ere  the  ghastly  work  was  done, 


A    TALE   OP  ETERNITY.  93 

Had  gathered  half  a  tiny  skeleton, 
That  had  been  once  a  Child. 


And  then  it  came 

On  me  that  in  my  dream  I  saw  the  same, 
And  had  been  warned  to  calcine  them  in  flame, 
And  pound  them  small  as  is  the  finest  rust, 
And  on  the  winds  of  heaven  fling  the  dust. 
I  did  it,  and,  although  that  soul  accurst, 
Still  walks  the  darkness,  we  had  passed  the  worst, 
And  there  was  peace  o'  nights  at  the  Haunted 
Hurst. 


THE  ARYAN  MOTHER. 

BEHOLD  a  phantom-form  appears,  majestic  in  its  gloom ! 

Mournfully  it  looks  across  a  Chasm  deep  as  doom: 

A  quivering  heartache  seems  to  move  its  withered,  wordless 

lips; 

Familiar  eyes  are  kindling  through  their  wan  light  of  eclipse : 
It  is  the  Ancient  Mother  rising,  Sphinx-like,  'mid  her  sands, 
To  plead  with  those  who  will  not  hear.  She  wrings  her 

wrinkled  hands ; 
Yearns  over  both.    As  Brothers  long  ago  she  brought  them 

forth, 

Her  dusky  Indiana  and  her  great  white  Heroes  of  the  North ! 
Ihe  Children  have  no  memories  of  the  Morning-Land,  and 

yet 
The  Mother's  heart  remembers,  though  all  the  world  forget. 


HAVELOCK'S   MARCH. 

E   look   with   horror,  when  the   blood 

grows  cold, 
On  that  which  stung  us  hotly  enough 

of  old  ; 

Blame  me  not  wantonly  :  I  do  but  draw 
Faintly  the  thing  we  felt ;  the  sight  we  saw  1 


HAVELOCK'S  MARCS.  95 


THE   BEVOLT. 

"  Come  hither,  my  brave  Soldier-boy,  and  sit  yon 

by  my  side, 
To  hear  a  tale,  a  fearful  tale,  a  glorious  tale  of 

pride ; 
How  Havelock  with  his  handful,   all  so  faithful 

and  so  few, 

Held  on  in  that  far  Indian  land,  to  bear  our  Eng- 
land through 
Her  pass   of  bloodiest  peril,  and  her  reddest  sea 

of  wrath ; 
A.nd  strode  like  Paladins  of  old  on  their  avenging 

path. 
Though  clothes  were  drencht,  and  flesh  was  parcht, 

and  bones  were  chilled  with  cold, 
The   gallant  hearts  never  gave  up ;    they  never 

loosed  their  hold ; 
But  fought  right  on,  and  triumphed,  till  our  eyes 

rained  as  we  read 
How  proudly  every  place  was  filled,  with  living 

and  with  dead. 

"  The   stillness  of  a  brooding  storm  lay  on  the 

Eastern  land ; 
The  dark  death-circle  narrowed  round  our  little 

English  band : 


96  HAVEL  OCR'S  MARCH. 

The  false  Sepoy  stoopt  lower  for  his  spring,  and 

in  his  eye 

A  bloody  light  was  burning  on  them,  as  he  glided  by : 
Old  Horrors  rose,  and  leered  at  them,  from  out 

the  tide  of  time,  — 
The  peering  peaks  of   War's  old   world,  whose 

brows  were  stained  with  crime  ! 
The  conscious   Silence  was  bat  dumb,  a   cursed 

plot  to  hide ; 
The  darkness  only  a  mask  of  Death,  ready  to  slip 

aside. 
Under  the  leafy  palms  they  lay,  and  through  their 

gay  green  crown 
Our  English  saw  no   Storm  roll   up  :   no   Fate 

swift  flaming  down. 

"  At  last  it  came.     The  Kebel  drum  was  heard 

at  dead  of  night : 
They  dasht  in  dust  the  only  torch  that  showed  the 

face  of  Right ! 
Once  more  the  Devil  clutches  at  his  lost  throne 

of  the  earth, 
And  sends  a  people,  smit  with  plague  of  madness, 

howling  forth. 
As  in  a  Demon's  dream  they  swarm  from  horrible 

hiding-nooks ; 
Bed  Murder  stabs  the  air,  and  lights  their  way 

with  bloody  looks  ! 


HAVEL OCK'S  MARCH.  97 

Snuffing  the  smell  of  human  blood,  the  cruel 

Moloch  stands; 
Hearing  the  cry  of  'Kill!  Kill!  Kill!  '  and  claps 

his  gory  hands. 
At  dead  of  night,  while  England  slept,  the  fearful 

vision  came, 
She  lookt,  and  with  a  dawn  of  hell  the  East  was 

all  aflame. 

"  Stern  tidings  flasht  to  Havelock,  of  legions  in 

revolt : 

'  The  traitors  turn  upon  us,  and  the  eaters  of  our  salt, 
Subtle  as  death,  and  false  as  hell,  and  cruel  as  the 

grave, 
Have  sworn  to  rend  us  by  the  root ;  be  quick,  if  ye 

would  save ; 
The  wild  beasts  bloody  and  obscene,  mad-drunk  with 

gore  and  lust, 
Have  wreaked  a  horrible  vengeance  on  our  England 

rolled  in  dust.' 

And  such  a  withering  wind  doth  blow,  such  fear- 
ful sounds  it  brings, 
The  soul  with  shudders  tries  to  shake  off  thoughts 

like  creeping  things. 
A  vast  invisible  Terror  twines  its  fingers  in  the 

hair, 
With  one  hand  feeling  for  the  throat ;  a  hand  that 

will  not  spare. 
7 


98  HAVEL  OCR'S  MARCH. 

"  They  slew  the  grizzled  Warrior,  who  to  them 

had  been  so  true ; 
The  ruddy  stripling  with   frank  eyes  of   bonny 

English  blue ; 
They  slew  the  Maiden  as  she  slept ;  the  Mother 

great  with  child ; 
The  Babe,  that  smiled  up  in  their  face,  they  stabbed 

it  as  it  smiled. 
The  piteous,  pleading,  hoary  hair  they  draggled  in 

red  mire  ; 
And  mocked  the  dying  as  they  dasht  out,  frantic 

from  the  fire, 
To  fall  upon  their  Tulwars,  hacked  to  death  ;  the 

bayonet 
Held  up  some  child  ;  the  devils  danced  around  it 

writhing  yet : 
Warm  flesh,  that  kindled  so  with  life,  was  torn, 

and  slowly  hewn, 
To   daintiest  morsels  for   the  feast  where  death 

began  too  soon. 

"  Our  English  girls,  whose  sweet  red  blood  went 
dancing  on  its  way, 

A  merry  marriage-maker  quick  for  its  near  wed- 
ding-day, — 

All  life  awaiting  for  the  breath  of  Love's  sweet 
south  to  blow, 

And  budding  bridal  roses  ripe  with  secret  balms 
to  flow,  — 


EAVELOCK'B  MARCH.  99 

They  stripped  them  naked  as  they  were  born ; 
naked  along  the  street, 

In  their  own  blood  they  made  them  dip  their  deli- 
cate white  feet ! 

With  some  last  rag  of  shelter  the  poor  helpless 
darling  tries 

To  hide  her  from  the  cruel  hell  of  those  devouring 
eyes; 

Then,  plucking  at  the  skirts  of  Death,  she  prayer- 
fully doth  cling, 

To  hide  her  from  the  eyes  that  still  gloat  round  her 
in  a  ring. 


THE  AVENGERS. 

"  '  Now,  Soldiers  of  our  England,  let  your  love  arise 

in  power ; 

For  never  yet  was  greater  need  than  in  this  awful  hour  : 
Together  stand  like  old  true-hearts  that  never  fear  nor 

flinch ; 
With  feet  tJiat  have  been  shod  for  death,  never  to 

yield  an  inch. 

Our  Empire  is  a  Ship  on  fire,  before  a  howling  wind, 
With  such  a  smoke  of  torment,  as  't  would  make  high 

heaven  blind  ! 
Wild  Ruin  waves  his  flag  of  flame,  and  ye  must 

spring  on  deck, 


loo  HAVEL  OCX'S  MARCH. 

And  quench  the  fire  in  blood,  and  save  our  treasures 

from  the  ivreck.' 
Many  a  time  has  England  thought  she  sent  her 

bravest  forth ; 
But  never  went  more  gallant  men,  or  more  heroic 

worth. 


"  Hungry  and  lean,  through  rain   and  mire,  our 

war-wolves  ravening  go 
On  their  long  march,  that  shall  not  mete  the  red 

grave  of  the  foe : 
Like  winter  trees  stripped  to  their  naked  strength 

of  heart  and  arm, 
That  glory  in  their  grimness  as  they  tussle  with 

the  storm  ! 
Only  a  handful  few  and  stern,  and  few  and  stern 

their  words ; 
Strange  meaning  in  their  eyes  that  meet  and  strike 

out  sparks  like  swords ! 
And  there  goes  Havelock !  leading   the  Forlorn 

Hope  of  our  land ; 
The  quick  heart  spurring  at  their  side  ;  the  banner 

of  their  band : 
Kindled,  but  calm,  along  their  ranks  his  steady 

eye  doth  run, 
As  marksman  seeks  the  death-line  down  the  level 

of  his  gun. 


HAVEL  OCRS  MARCH.  101 

"  Beneath  the  whitening  snows  of  age  his  spirit- 
ardors  glow, 
As  glow  the  fragrant  fires  of  spring  in  flowers 

beneath  the  snow. 
Look  in  his  grave  and  martial  face,  with  God's 

dear  pity  toucht ; 
A  savior  soul  doth  sanctify  the  sword  his  hand 

hath  clutcht : 
A  little  while  his  silent  thoughts  have  gone  within 

to  pray, 
And  send  a  farewell  of  the  heart  to  the  dear  ones 

far  away. 
He  prays  to  God  to  light  him  through  the  perilous 

darkness,  when 
He  grapples  with  the  beasts  of  blood,  and  quells 

them  in  their  den. 
And  now  his  look  is  lifted  in  the  light  of  some  far 

goal; 
His  lips  the  living  trumpet  of  a  gray-haired  seer's 

soul. 

"  On  the  house-tops  of  Allahabad  black,  scowling 

brows  were  bent, 
In  hate,  and  deep,  still  curses,  on  our  heroes  as 

they  went 
To  fight  their  hundred-days-long  fight ;  all  true  as 

their  good  steel, 
The  Highlanders  of  Havelock,  the  Fusileers  of 

Neil! 


102  HAVEL  OCK'S  MARCH. 

A  falling  firmament  of  rain  the  heavens  were  pour- 
ing down ; 

They  heeded  not  the  drowning  heavens,  nor  yet  the 
foeman's  frown : 

Forward  they  strained  with  hearts  afire,  and  gal- 
lantly they  toiled 

Till  darkness  fell  upon  them :  then  the  Moon  up- 
rose and  smiled. 

A  little  thing !  and  yet  it  seemed  at  such  a  time  to 
come 

Just  like  a  proud  and  mournful  smile  from  the 
very  heart  of  Home. 

"  That  night  they  halted  in  a  snipe-swamp ;  hun- 
gry, cold,  and  drencht ; 

With  hearts  that  kept  the  blitheness  of  brave  men 
and  never  blencht. 

Through  flooding  nullah,  slushy  sand,  onward  they 
strode  again, 

Ere  Dawn,  a  winged  glory,  alit  upon  the  bur- 
nisht  rain, 

And  mists  up-gathered  sullenly  along  the  rear  of 
flight, 

Slowly  as  beaten  Bellooches  might  lounge  from 
out  the  fight. 

Then  heaven  grew  like  inverted  hell;  a  blazing 
vault  of  fire ! 

The  Sun  pursuing  pitiless,  to  bring  the  brain- 
strokes  nigher ; 


EAVELOCK'S  MARCH.  103 

With  sworded  splendors  fierce  in  front,  and  dart- 
ing down  all  day, 
Intently  as  the  eyes  of  Death  a-feeding  on  his  prey. 

"  All  day  long,  and  every  day,  with  patience  con- 
quering pain, 

Our  good  and  gallant  fellows  with  one  purpose  for- 
ward strain  ; 

For  there  is  that  within  each  heart  nothing  but 
death  can  stop ; 

They  hurry  on,  and  hurry  on,  and  hurry  till  they 
drop; 

Trying  to  save  the  remnant ;  reach  the  leaguered 
place  in  time 

To  grasp,  with  red-wet  slaughtering  hands,  the 
workers  of  this  crime. 

They  think  of  all  the  dead  that  float  adown  the 
Ganges'  waters : 

Those  noble  Englishmen  of  ours ;  their  gentle 
wives  and  daughters ! 

Of  Fire  and  Madness  broken  loose,  and  doing 
deeds  most  pitiful ; 

And  then  of  vengeance  dealt  out  by  the  choked 
and  blackened  city-full. 

"  They  think  of  those  poor  things  that  climb  each 

little  eminence ; 
As,  from  the  deluge  of  the  dark,  when  day  is 

going  hence, 


104 


HAVEL  OCR'S  MARCH. 


The  sheep  will  huddle  up  the  hill,  and  gather  there 
forlorn ; 

So  gather  they  in  this  dread  night,  to  wait  the  far- 
off  morn. 

Or,  crouching  in  the  jungle,  they  look  up  in  Na- 
ture's face,. 

To  find  she  has  no  heart,  for  all  her  rectilinear 
grace ! 

Each  leaf  a  sword,  or  prickly  spear,  or  lifted  jagged 
knife ! 

No  shields  of  shelter  like  our  leaves ;  but  threat- 
ening human  life, 

With  ominous  hints  of  blood ;  and  there  the  roots 
go  writhing  round, 

Like  curses  coiled  upon  the  spring,  that  rest  not 
underground. 

"  They  find  sure  tokens  all  the  day !  and  starting 

from  their  dream 
At  night,  they  hear  the  Pariah  dogs  that  howl  by 

Ganges'  stream, 
Knowing  the  waters  bear  their  freight  of  corpses 

stiff  and  stark, 
Scenting  the  footfalls  on  the  air,  as  Death  comes 

down  the  dark ; 
Only  the  Lotus  with  ripe  lips,  and  arms  caressing 

clings. 

The  silence  swarms  with  ghastly  thoughts ;   each 
.  sound  with  ghastly  things. 


HAVEL  OCX'S  MARCH.  105 

There,  stands  the  plough  i'  the  furrow ;  there  the 

villagers  have  flown ! 
There,  Fire  ran  dancing  over  roofs  that  underfoot 

went  down ! 
There,  Renaud  hung  his  dangling  dead,  with  but 

short  time  for  shrift,    . 
He  caught  them  on  their  way  to  hell,  and  gave 

them  a  last  lift. 

"  They  saw  the  first  sight  of  their  foe  as  the  fourth 

dawn  grew  red ; 
Twenty  miles  to  breakfast  marched ;   and  had  to 

fight  instead. 
The  morning  smiled  on  arms  up-piled,  and  weary 

wayworn  men, 
But  soon  the  assembly  sounded,  and  they  sprung 

to  arms  again ; 
The  heaviest  heart  up-leaping  light,  as  flames  that 

tread  on  air. 
The  Rebel  line  bore  down  as  they  had  caught  us 

unaware ; 
But  Maude  dasht  forward  with  his  guns,  over 

the  sandy  mire, 
And  little  did  they  relish  our  bright  rain  of  rifle 

fire : 
Quickly  the  onward  way  was  ploughed,  with  heaps 

on  either  hand ; 
They  broke  the  foe,  then  broke  their  fast,  that 

dauntless  little  band. 


106  HAVEL  OCTS  MARCH. 

"Again  they  felt  our  withering  fire,  by  Pandoo 

Nuddee  stream ; 
Again  they  feared  the  crashing  charge,  and  fled 

the  vengeful  gleam : 
Small  loss  was  his  in  battle  when  the  Conqueror 

lookt  round ; 
But  many  fell  from  weariness,  and  died  without  a 

wound. 
Soft,  whispering  flowery  secrets,  came  a  low  wind 

of  the  west 
That  eve,  like  breath  made  balmy  with  the  sweet 

love  in  the  breast ; 
Breathing  its  freshness   through   the   groves   of 

Mango  and  of  Palm ; 
But  the  sweetest  thing  that  wind  could  bring  was 

slumber's  holy  balm, 
To  bless  them  for  the  morrow,  and  give  strength 

for  them  to  cope 
With  those  ten  thousand  men  that  stood  betwixt 

them  and  their  hope. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  glorious  sight  to  see  them  as 
they  went, 

With  veteran  valor  steady ;  sure  of  proud  accom- 
plishment, 

When  Havelock  bade  his  line  advance,  and  the 
Highlanders  swept  on ; 

Each  one  at  heart  a  thousand ;  a  thousand  men  as 
one; 


HAVELOCK'S  MARCH.  107 

Linked  in  their  beautiful  proud  line  across  the 
broken  lands, 

Straight  on  !  they  never  paused  to  lift  the  weapon 
in  their  hands ; 

Silent,  compact  and  resolute,  charged  as  a  thunder- 
cloud, 

That  burst,  and  wrapt  the  dead  and  living  in  one 
smoky  shroud ; 

One  volley  of  Defiance !  one  wild  cheer !  and 
through  the  smoke, 

They  flasht !  and  all  the  battle  into  flying  frag- 
ments broke. 

"  When  night  came  down  they  lay  there,  gashed 

all  over,  side  by  side, 
The  gray  old  warrior,  and  the  youth,  his  Mother's 

darling  pride  ! 
Rolled  with  the  rebel  in  the  dust,  and  grim  in 

bloody  death ; 

And  over  all  the  mist  arose,  dank  as  the  grave- 
yard's breath. 
But  light  of  heart  we  took  the  hill,  and  very  proud 

that  night 
Was  Havelock  of  his  noble  men,  and  Cawnpore 

was  in  sight. 
The  men  had  neither  food  nor  tent,  but  the  red 

road  was  won  : 
And  very  proud  were  they  to  hear  their  General's 

'  Well  done  '  ; 


108  HAVEL  OCR'S  MARCH. 

Not  knowing  how  their  triumph-cheer  had  rung  a 

fatal  knell ; 
Nor  what  that  wretch  had  wrought  who  has  no 

match  this  side  of  Hell. 


CAWNPOEB. 

"  Cawnpore  was  ghastly  silent,  as  into  it  they 
stepped  ; 

There  stood  the  blackened  Ruin  that  the  brave  old 
Soldier  kept ! 

Where  strained  each  ear  for  the  English  cheer,  and 
stretcht  the  wan  wide  eyes, 

Through  all  that  awful  night  to  see  the  signal- 
rocket  rise ; 

No  tramp,  no  cheer  of  Brothers  near ;  no  distant 
cannon's  boom ; 

Nothing  but  Death  goes  to  and  fro  betwixt  the 
glare  and  gloom. 

The  living  remnant  try  to  hold  their  bit  of  blood- 
stained ground ; 

Dark  gaps  continual  in  their  midst ;  the  dead  all 
lying  round ; 

And  saddest  corpses  still  are  those  that  die,  and  do 
not  die ; 

With  just  a  little  glimmering  light  of  life  to  show 
them  by. 


HAVELOCK'S  MARCH.  109 

"  Each  drop  of  water  cost  a  wound  to  fetch  it  from 
the  well ; 

The  father  heard  his  crying  child  and  went,  but 
surely  fell. 

They  had  drunk  all  their  tears,  and  now  dry  agony 
drank  their  blood ; 

The  sand  was  killing  in  their  souls ;  the  wind  a 
fiery  flood ; 

Oh,  for  one  waft  of  heather-breath  from  off  a 
Scottish  wold ! 

One  shower  that  makes  our  English  leaves  smile 
greener  for  its  gold ! 

Then  life  drops  inward  from  the  eyes ;  turns  up- 
ward with  last  prayer, 

To  look  for  its  deliverance ;  the  only  way  lies 
there  ! 

And  then  triumphant  Treachery  made  leap  each 
trusting  heart, 

Like  some  poor  Bird  called  from  the  nest,  up-pois- 
ing for  the  dart. 

" '  Come,  let  us  pray,'  their  Chaplain  said.     No 

other  boon  was  craved  : 
No  pleading  word  for  mercy  sued;    no  face  the 

white  flag  craved ; 
But  all  grasped  hands  and  prayed,  till  peace  their 

souls  serenely  filled ; 
Then  like  our  noble  Martyrs,  there  they  stood  up, 

and  were  killed. 


1 10  HAVEL  OCK'S  MARCH. 

Only  one  saved  ! 

He  led  our  soldiers  to  the  house  of  blood ; 

An   eager,  panting,  cursing   crew!    but  stricken 
there  they  stood 

In  silence  that  was  breathlessness  of  vengeance 
infinite ; 

A-many  wept  like  women  who  were  fiercest  in  the 
fight: 

There  grew  a  look  in  human  eyes  as  though  a 
wild  beast  came 

Up  in  them  at  that  scent  of  blood  and  glared  de- 
vouring flame. 

"  All  the  Babes  and  Women  butchered !   all  the 

dear  ones  dead  ; 

The  story  of  their  martyrdom  in  lines  of  awful  red ! 
The  blood-black  floor,  the  clotted  gore,  fair  tresses, 

deep  sword-dints; 

Last  message-scrawl  upon  the  wall,  and  tiny  finger- 
prints : 
Gathered  in  one  were  all  strange  sights  of  horror 

and  despair, 
That  make  the  vision  blood-shot,  freeze  the  life,  or 

lift  the  hair. 
Faces  to  faces  flasht  hell-fire !     O,  but  they  felt 

't  would  take 
The  very  cup  of  God's  own  wrath,  that  gasping 

thirst  to  slake : 


HA V-EL OCR'S  MARCH.  m 

For  many  a  day  '  Cawnpore '  was  hissed,  and,  at 

its  word  of  guilt, 
The  slaying  sword  went  merciless  right,  ruddy  to 

the  hilt. 

"  There  came  a  time  we  caught  them,  with  a  vast 

and  whelming  wave, 
And  of  their  grand  Secunder  Bagh  we  made  a 

trophied  grave. 
Once  more  the  "Highlanders  pressed  on  with  stern, 

avenging  tread, 

And  Peel  was  there  with  his  big  guns,  and  Camp- 
bell at  their  head  : 
A  spring  of  daring  madness  !  and  they  leapt  upon 

their  prey 
With  hungry  hearts  on  fury  fed,  for  many  and 

many  a  day. 
For  hours  and  hours,  they  slew,  and   slew,  the 

devils  in  their  den  : 
'  Ye  wreaked  your  will  on  women  weak,  now  try  it 

with  strong  men.' 
The  blood  that  cried   to  heaven  long  in  vapors 

from  our  slain, 
Fell  hot  and  fast  upon  their  heads  in  a  rich  ruddy 

rain. 

"  That  day  they  saw  their  delicate  white  marbles 
glow  and  swim ; 


112  HAVEL  OCR'S  MARCH. 

There  rose  a  cry  like  hell  from  out  a  slaughter 

great  and  grim  : 
And  as  they  claspt  their  hands  and  sued  for  mercy 

where  they  fell, 
One  last  sure  thrust  was  given  for  that  red  and 

writhing  Well. 
And  there  was  joy  in  every  heart,  and  light  in 

every  eye, 
To  see  the  traitor  hordes  that  fled,  make  a  last 

stand  to  die ! 
While  from  the  big  wide  wounds,  like  snakes,  the 

runlets  crawled  along 
And  stole  away ;  the  reptiles  who  had  done  the 

cruel  wrong  ! 
A  terrible   reprisal  for  each  precious  drop  they 

spilled. 

Seventeen  hundred  coward  killers  there  were  brave- 
ly killed. 


THE    RELIEF. 

"  England's  unseen,  dead  Sorrow  doth  a  visible 

Angel  rise ; 
The  sword  of  justice  in  her  hand  ;   Revenge  looks 

through  her  eyes  : 
Stern  with  the  purpose  in  her  soul  right  onward 

hastens  she, 


HAVELOCK'S  MARCH.  113 

Like  one  that  bears  the  doom  of  worlds,  with 

vengeful  majesty ; 
Sombre,  superb,  and  terrible,  before  them  still  she 

goes  ! 
And  though  they  lessen  day  by  day,  they  deal  such 

echoing  blows, 
That  still  dilating  with  success,  still  grows  that 

little  band, 
Till  in  the  place  of  hundreds,  ten  thousand  seem 

to  stand. 
With  arms  that  weary  not  at  work,  they  bear  our 

victor  flag, 
To  plant  it  high  on  hills  of  dead,  a  torn  and 

bloody  rag. 


"  And  Lucknow  lies  before  them,  —  all  its  pageant- 
ry unrolled ; 

Against  the  smiling  sapphire  gleam  her  tops  of 
lighted  gold. 

Each  royal  wall  is  fretted  all  with  frostwork  and 
with  fire, 

A  glory  of  color  jewel-rich,  that  makes  a  splen- 
dor-pyre, 

As  wave  on  wave  the  wonder  breaks,  the  pointed 
flames  burn  higher, 

On  dome  of  mosque  and  minaret,  on  pinnacle  and 
spire ; 

8 


114  HAVEL  OCK'S  MARCH. 

Fairy  creations,  seen  mid-air,  that  in  their  pleas- 

aunce  wait, 
Like  winged  creatures  sitting  just  outside  their 

heaven-gate. 
The  City  in  its  beauty  lies,  with  flowers  about  her 

feet  ; 
Green  fields,  and  goodly  gardens,  make  so  foul  a 

thing  seem  sweet. 

The  Bugle  rings  out  for  the  march,  and,  with  its 

proudest  thrill, 
Goes  to  the  heart  of  Havelock's  men  and  works  its 

lordly  will, 
Making  their  spirits  thrill  as  leaves  are  thrilled  in 

some  wild  wind ; 
Hunger  and  heartache,  weariness  and  wounds,  all 

left  behind. 
Their  sufferings  all  forgotten  now,  as  in  the  ranks 

they  form ; 
And  every  soul  in  stature  rose  to  wrestle  with  the 

storm. 
All  silent !  what  was  hid  at  heart  could  not  be 

said  in  words  : 
With  faces  set  for  Lucknow,  ground  to  sharpness, 

keen  as  swords  ! 
A  tightening  twitch  all  over !  a  grim  glistening  in 

the  eye, 
'  Forward  ! '  and  on  their  way  they  strode  to  dare, 

and  do,  and  die. 


HAVELOCK'S  MARCH.  115 

"  Hope  whispers  at  the  ear  of  some,  that  they  shall 

meet  again, 
And  clasp  their  long-lost  darlings,  after  all  the  toil 

and  pain ; 
A-many  know  that  they  will  sleep  to-night  among 

the  slain ; 
And  many  a  cheek  will  bloom  no  more  for  all  the 

tearful  rain  : 
And  some  have  only  vengeance  ;  but  to-day  't  is 

bitter  sweet ; 
And  there  goes  Havelock !  his  the  aim  too  lofty 

for  defeat  j 
With  steady  tramp  the  column  treads,  true  as  the 

firm  heart's-beat ; 
Strung  for  its  headlong  murderous  march  through 

that  long  fatal  street. 
All  ready  to  win  a  soldier's  grave,  or  do  the  daring 

deed ! 
But  not  a  man  that  fears  to  die  for  England  in  her 

need. 

"  The  masked  artillery  raked  the  road,  and  ploughed 

them  front  and  flank  ; 
Some  gallant  fellow  every  step  was  stricken  from 

the  rank ; 
But,  as  he  staggered,  in  his  place  another  sternly 

stepped ; 
And,  firing  fast  as  they  could  load,  their  onward 

way  they  kept. 


Il6  HAVEL  OCR'S  MARCH. 

Now,  give  them  the  good  bayonet !  with  England's 

fiercest  foes, 
Strong  arm,  cold  steel  will  do  it,  in  the  wildest, 

bloodiest  close : 
And  now  their  bayonets  abreast  go  sternly  up  the 

ridge, 
And  with  a  cheer  they  take  the  guns,  another, 

clear  the  bridge. 
One  good  home-thrust !  and  surely,  as  the  dead  in 

doom  are  sure, 
They  send  them    where  that   British  cheer  can 

trouble  them  no  more. 

"  The  fire  is  biting  bitterly ;  onward  the  battle 
rolls ; 

Grim  Death  is  glaring  at  them,  from  ten  thousand 
hiding-holes ; 

Death  stretches  up  from  earth  to  heaven,  spread- 
ing his  darkness  round ; 

Death  piles  the  heaps  of  helplessness  face  down- 
ward to  the  ground ; 

Death  flames  from  sudden  ambuscades,  where  all 
was  still  and  dark ; 

Death  swiftly  speeds  on  whizzing  wings  the  bul- 
lets to  their  mark ; 

Death  from  the  doors  and  windows,  all  around  and 
overhead, 

Darts,  with  his  cloven  fiery  tongues,  incessant, 
quick,  and  red : 


EAVELOCK'B  MARCH.  117 

Death  everywhere,  Death  in  all  sounds,  and,  through 

its  smoke  of  breath, 
Victory  beckons  at  the  end  of  long  dark  lanes  of 

death. 

"  Another  charge,  another  cheer,  another  battery 

won ! 
And  in  a  whirlwind  of  fierce  fire  the  fight  goes 

roaring  on. 
Into  the  very  heart  of  hell,  with  comrades  falling 

fast, 

Through  all  that  tempest  terrible,  the  glorious  rem- 
nant passed. 
No  time  to  help  a  dear  old  friend :  but  where  the 

wounded  fell, 
They  knew  it  was  all  over,  and  they  lookt  a  last 

farewell. 
And  dying  eyes,  slow  setting  in  a  cold  and  stony 

stare, 
Turned  upward,  see  a  map  of  murder  scribbled  on 

the  air 
With  crossing  flames ;  and  others  read  their  fiery 

fearful  fate, 
In  dark,  swart  faces  waiting  for  them,  whitening 

with  their  hate. 

"  O,  proudly  men  will  march  to  death,  when  Have- 
lock  leads  them  on  : 


Il8  HAVEL  OCR'S  MARCH. 

Through  all  the  storm  he  sat  his  horse  as  he  were 

cut  in  stone ! 
But   now  his  look  grows  dark;   his  eye  gleams 

with  uneasy  flash : 
1  On,  for  the  Residency,  we  must  make  a  last  brave 

dash.' 
And  on  dasht  Highlander  and  Sikh  through  a  sea 

of  fire  and  steel, 
On,  with  the  lion  of  their  strength,  our  first  in 

glory,  Niel! 
It  seemed  the  face  of  heaven  grew  black,  so  close 

it  held  its  breath, 
Through  all  the  glorious  agony  of  that  long  march 

of  death. 
The  round  shot  tears,  the  bullets  rain ;  dear  God, 

outspread  thy  shield ! 
Put  forth  thy  red  right  arm,  for  them !  thy  sword 

of  sharpness  wield. 

"  One  wave  breaks  forward  on  the  shore,  and  one 
falls  helpless  back : 

Again  they  club  their  wasted  strength,  and  fight 
like  ' Hell-fire  Jack.'* 

And  ever  as  fainter  grows  the  fire  of  that  intrepid 
band, 

Again  they  grasp  the  bayonet  as  't  were  Salva- 
tion's hand. 

*  Soubriquet  of  Captain  Olpherts. 


HAVELOCK'S  MARCH.  119 

They  leap  the  broad,  deep  trenches,  rush  through 
archways  streaming  fire ; 

Every  step  some  brave  heart  bursts,  heaving  deliv- 
erance nigher : 

'  I  'm  hit,'  cries  one,  '  you  'II  take  me  on  your  back, 
old  comrade,  I 

Should  like  to  see  their  dear  white  faces  once  before  1 
die ; 

My  body  may  save  you  from  the  shot.' 

His  comrade  bore  him  on  : 

But,  ere  they  reacht  the  Bailie  Guard,  the  hurry- 
ing soul  was  gone. 

"  And  now  the  Gateway  arched  in  sight ;  the  last 

grim  tussle  came. 
One  moment  makes  immortal !    dead  or  living, 

endless  fame ! 
They  heard  the  voice  of  fiery  Niel,  that  for  the 

last  time  thrilled ; 
• '  Push  on  my  men,  't  is  getting  dark ' :  he  sat  where 

he  was  killed. 
Another  frantic  surge  of  life,  and  plunging  o'er 

the  bar, 
Right  into  harbor  hurling  goes  their  whirling  wave 

of  war, 
And  breaks  in  mighty  thunders  of  reverberating 

cheers, 
Then  dances  on  in  frolic  foam  of  kisses,  blessings, 

tears. 


120  HAVJELOCK'S  MARCH. 

Stabbed  by  mistake,  one  native  cries  with  the  last 

breath  he  draws, 
'  Welcome,  my  friends,  never  you  mind,  it 's  all  for 

the  good  cause.' 

"  How  they  had  leaned  and  listened,  as  the  battle 

sounded  nigher ; 

How  they  had  strained  their  eyes  to  see  them  com- 
ing crowned  with  fire ! 
Till  in  the  flashing  street  below  they  heard  them 

pant  for  breath, 
And  then  the  English  faces  smiled  clear  from  the 

cloud  of  death ; 
And  iron  grasp  met  tender  clasp;   wan  weeping 

women  fold 
Their  dear  Deliverers,  down  whose  long  brown 

beards  the  big  tears  rolled. 
Another  such  a  meeting  will  not  be  on  this  side 

heaven ! 
The  little  wine  they  have  hoarded,  to  the  last  drop 

shall  be  given 
To  those  who,  in  their  mortal  need,  fought  on 

through  fearful  odds, 
Bled  for  them,  reacht  them,  saved  them,  less  like 

men  than  glorious  gods. 


ffAVELOCK'S  MARCH.  121 


DEATH   OF   HAVELOCK. 

"  The  Warrior  may  be  ripe  for  rest,  and  laurelled 

with  great  deeds, 
But  till  their  work  be  done,  no  rest  for  those  whom 

God  yet  needs : 
Whether  in  rivers  of  ruin  their  onward  way  they 

tear, 
Or  healing  waters  trembling  with  the  beauty  that 

they  bear ; 

Blasting  or  blessing  they  must  on :  on,  on,  for- 
ever on ! 
Divine  unrest  is  in  their  breast,  until  their  work  be 

done. 
Nor  is  it  all  a  pleasant  path  the  sacred  band  must 

tread, 
With  life  a  summer  holiday,  and  death  a  downy 

bed! 
They  wear  away  with  noble  use,  they  drink  the 

tearful  cup ; 
And  they  must  bear  the  bitter  cross  who  go  with 

Christ  to  sup. 

"Each  day  his  face  grew  thinner,  and  sweeter, 

saintlier  grew 
The  smiling  soul  that  every  day  was  burning  keen- 

lier  through. 


122  HAVELOCK'S  MARCH. 

And  higher,  each  day  higher,  did  the  life-flame 

heavenward  climb, 
Like  sad  sweet  sunshine  up  the  wall,  that  for  the 

sunset  time 
Seems  watching  till  the  signal  that  shall  call  it 

hence  is  given ; 
Even  so  his  spirit  kept  the  watch,  till  beckoned 

home  to  heaven. 
His  work  was  done,  his  eyes  with  peace  were  soft 

and  satisfied ; 
War-worn  and  wasted,  in  the  arms  of  Victory  he 

died. 

'  Havdock  's  dead,'  and  darkness  fell  on  every  up- 
turned face ; 
The  shadow  of  an  Angel  passing  from  its  earthly 

place. 


"In  the  red  pass  of  peril,  with  a  fame  shall  never' 

dim, 
Died  Havelock,  the  Good  Soldier :  who  would  not 

die  like  him  ? 
In  grandest  strength  he  fell,  full-length ;  and  now 

our  hero  climbs 
To  those  who  stood  up  in  their  day  and  spoke 

with  after  times : 
There  on  the  battlements  of  Heaven,  they  watch 

us,  looking  back 


HAVEL  OCKS  MARCH.  123 

To  see  the  blessing  flow  for  those  who  follow  in 
their  track. 

He  smileth  from  his  heaven  now ;  the  Martyr  with 
his  palm  ; 

The  weary  warrior's  tired  life  is  crowned  with 
starry  calm. 

On  many  sailing  through  the  storm  another  star 
shall  shine, 

And  they  shall  look  up  through  the  night  and  con- 
quer at  the  sign. 


"  They  laid  it  low,  the  old  gray  head,  not  only 

gray  with  years ; 
It  had  been  bowed  in  Sorrow's  lap  and  silvered 

with  her  tears ; 
Our  England  may  not  crown  it,  with  her  heart  too 

full  for  speech ; 
The  hand  that  draws  into  the  dark,  hath  borne  it 

beyond  reach. 
The  eyes  of  far-away  heaven-blue,  with  such  keen 

lustre  lit, 

As  they  could  pierce  the  dark  of  death,  and,  star- 
like,  fathom  it, 
They  may  not  swim  with  sweetness  as  the  happy 

Children  run 
To  welcome  home  the  Keaper,  when  the  weary 

day  is  done ! 


124  HAVELOCVa  MARCH. 

How  would  the  tremulous  radiance  round  the  old 

man's  mouth  have  smiled ; 
Our  good  gray-headed  hero,  with  the  heart  of  a 

little  child. 

"  Honor  to  Henry  Havelock !  though  not  of  kingly 

blood, 
He  wore  the  double  royalty  of  being  great  and 

good. 
He  rose  and  reacht  the  topmost  height ;  our  Hero 

lowly  born : 
So  from  the  lowly  grass  hath  grown  the  proud 

embattled  Corn  ! 
He  rose  up  in  our  cruel  need,  and  towering  on  he 

trod  ; 
Baring  his  brow  to  battle  bold,  as  humbly  to  his 

God. 
He  did  his  work  nor  thought  of  nations  ringing 

with  his  name, 
He  walkt  with  God,  and  talkt  with  God,  nor  cared 

if  following  Fame 
Should  find  him  toiling  in  the  field,  or  sleeping 

underground ; 
Nor  did  he  mind  what  resting-place,  with  heaven 

embracing  round. 

"When  swarming  hell   had  broken  bounds,  he 
showed  us  how  to  stand 


HAVELOCKS  MARCH.  125 

With  rootage  like  the  Palm  amidst  the  maddest 

whirl  of  sand ; 
Undaunted  while  the  swarthy  storm  around  him 

swirled  and  swirled, 
A  winding-sheet  of  all  white  life  !  a  wild  Sahara 

world ! 
The  drowning  waves  closed  over  him,  lost  to  all 

human  view, 
But,  like  an  arrow  straight   from  God,  he  cleft 

their  twelve  hosts  through. 

No  swerving  as  he  walkt  along  the  rearing  earth- 
quake ridge ; 
He  made  a  way  for  Victory,  his  body  was  her 

bridge. 
Grand  in  the  mouths  of  men  his  fame  along  the 

centuries  runs ; 
Women  shall  read  of  his  great  deed  and  bear 

heroic  sons. 

"  He  leant  a  trusting  hand  on  heaven,  a  gentle  heart 

on  home ; 
In  secret  he  grew  ready,  ere  the  Judgment  hour 

was  come. 
War  blew  away  the  ashes  gray,  and  kindled  at  the 

core 
Live  sparkles  of  the  Ironside  fire  that  glowed  on 

Marston  Moor. 
Some  Angel-Mute  had  led  him  blindfold  through  his 

thorny  ways, 


126  HAVEL  OCX'S  M ARCH. 

Till,  on  a  sudden,  lo,  he  stood,  full  in  the  glory's 

blaze. 
Aloud,  for  all  the  world  to  hear,  God  called  his 

servant's  name, 
And  led  him  forth,  where  all  might  see,  upon  the 

heights  of  fame. 
His  arch  of  life,  suspended  as  it  sprang,  in  heaven 

appears, 
Our  bow  of  promise  o'er  the  storm,  seen  through 

rejoicing  tears. 

"  Joy  to  old  England  !  she  has  stuff  for  storm- 
sail  and  for  stay, 
While   she  can  breed  such  heroes,  in  her  quiet, 

homely  way : 
Such  martial  souls  that  go  with  grim,  war-figured 

brows  pulled  down, 
As  men  that  are  resolved  to  bear  Death's  heavy, 

iron  crown. 
So  long  as  she  has  sons  like  these,  no  foe  shall 

make  her  bow, 
While  Ocean  washes  her  white  feet ;  Heaven  kisses 

her  fair  brow. 
If  India's  fate  had  rested  on  each   single  savior 

soul, 
They  would  have  kept  their  grasp  of  it  till  we 

regained  the  whole. 
The  Lightnings  of   that  bursting  Cloud,  which 

were  to  blast  our  might, 


EAVELOCK'S  MARCH.  127 

But  served  to  show  its  majesty  clear  in  the  sterner 
light. 

"  Our  England  towers  up  beautiful  with  her  dilat- 
ing form, 

To  greater  stature  in  the  strife,  and  glory  in  the 
storm ; 

Her  wrath's  great  wine-press  trodden  on  so  many 
vintage  fields, 

With  crush  and  strain,  and  press  of  pain,  a  ripened 
spirit  yields, 

To  warm  us  in  our  winter,  when  the  times  are 
coward  and  cold, 

And  work  divinely  in  young  veins  ;  wake  boyhood 
in  the  old. 

Behold  her  flame  from  field  to  field  on  Victory's 
chariot  wheels, 

Till  to  its  den,  bleeding  to  death,  Kebellion  back- 
ward reels. 

Her  Martyrs  are  avenged  !  ye  may  search  that 
Indian  land, 

And  scarcely  find  a  single  soul  of  all  the  traitor 
band. 

"  We  've  many  a  nameless  hero  lying  in  his  un- 
known grave, 

Their  life's  gold  fragment  gleaming  but  a  sunfleck 
on  the  wave. 

But  rest,  you  unknown,  noble  dead !  our  Living  are 
one  hand 


128  HAVELOCK'S  MARCH. 

Of  England's   power ;    but,  with  her  Dead   she 

grasps  into  the  land. 
The  flower  of  our  Kace  shall  make  that  Indian 

desert  bud, 
Its  shifting  sands  drench  firm,  and  fertilize  with 

English  blood. 

In  many  a  country  they  sleep  crowned,  our  con- 
quering, faithful  Dead  : 
They  pave  our  path  where   shines  her   sun  of 

empire  overhead; 
They  circle  in  a  glorious  ring,  with  which  the 

world  is  wed, 
And  where  their  blood  has  turned  to  bloom,  our 

England's  Eose  is  red. 

"  Your  brother  Willie,  Boy,  was  one  of  Havelock's 
little  band  ; 

My  Son  !  my  beautiful  brave  Son,  lies  in  that  In- 
dian Land. 

They  buried  him  by  the  wayside  where  he  bowed 
him  down  to  die, 

While  Homeward  in  its  Eastern  pomp  the  Triumph 
passed  him  by. 

And  even  yet  mine  eyes  are  wet,  but  't  is  with  that 
proud  tear 

A  lofty  feeling  in  its  front  doth  like  a  jewel  wear. 

I  see  him  1  on  his  forehead  shines  the  conqueror's 
burning  crest, 


HAVEL  OCR'S  MARCH.  129 

And  God's  own  cross  of  Victory  is  on  his  martial 

breast. 
I  should  have  liked  to  have  felt  him  near,  when 

these  old  eyes  grow  dim, 
But  I  gave  him  to  our  England  ;   she  had  greater 

need  of  him." 


IN    MEMORIAM 


A  RECORD  of  affectionate  remembrance,  inscribed  to  the 
Lady  Marian  Alford  on  the  death  of  her  son,  John  William 
Spencer,  Earl  Brownlow,  as  the  Author's  offering  of  sym- 
pathy in  the  common  sorrow. 


The  dear  ones  who  are  worthiest  of  our  love 

Below,  are  also  worthiest  above. 

Too  lofty  is  his  place  in  glory  now, 

For  hands  like  ours  to  reach  and  wreathe  his  brow : 

A  few  poor  flowers  we  plant  upon  his  tomb, 

Watered  with  tears  to  make  them  breathe  and  bloom. 

The  gentle  soul  that  was  so  long  thy  ward, 

Now  hovers  over  thee,  thine  Angel-Guard : 

And,  as  thou  mourn'st  above  his  dust  so  dear, 

Thy  happy  Comforter  draws  smiling  near. 

Look  up,  dear  friend,  our  Doves  of  Earth  but  rise, 

Transfigured  into  Birds  of  Paradise. 


1  The  idea  of  his  life  doth  sweetly  creep 
Into  my  study  of  imagination  ; 
And  every  lovely  organ  of  his  life 
Will  come  apparelled  in  more  precious  habit  — 
More  moving  delicate,  and  full  of  life, 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  my  soul 
Than  when  he  lived  indeed." 


PPARELLED  richly  in  presence  of  the 

Gods, 
With  crown  upon  his   brow,  the   old 

Greek  stood 
And  offered  up  his  soul  at  Sacrifice. 
Even   then   the   tidings   came,  — "  THY   SON   is 

DEAD." 

They  saw  the  sharp  words  pierce  him  through  and 

through, 

The  firm  lip  quiver  and  the  face  grow  white ; 
They  saw  the  strong  man  tremble  to  the  knees : 
Slowly  the  big  drops  gathered  in  his  eyes  : 
Slowly  he  took  the  crown  from  off  his  head, 
And  let  it  fall  to  the  ground,  as  one  who  feels 
Heart-broke  all  over,  —  for  his  pride  of  life 
Hath  faded,  and  his  strength  is  spilled  in  dust. 

But,  when  the  Messenger  went  on  to  tell 
The  exulting  story  —  how  the  valiant  youth 


I34  '  W  MEMORIAM. 

Had  lost  a  life  to  win  a  Country's  love : 

How  bravely  he  had  home  him  in  the  hattle ; 

How  well  he  fought,  how  gloriously  he  fell ; 

The  weeping  Father  put  his  war-look  on 

And  rose  up  with  the  stature  of  his  soul  — 

All  his  life  listening  at  the  hungry  ear  — 

Eyes    burning    with   the   splendor   of    quenched 

tears  — 

His  pillared  chin  firm-set,  his  brave  mouth  clenched 
In  calm  resolve  to  bear,  and  on  his  face 
A  smile  as  if  of  Sword-light ! 

Then  he  stooped, 

And  gently  took  the  crown  up  from  the  ground ; 
Softly  replaced  it  on  his  brow,  and  wore 
It  proudly,  as  the  visible  symbol  of 
That  other  awful  crown  which  darkened  down. 

So,  when  the  word  came  that  our  friend  was  dead, 

We  bowed  beneath  the  burden  of  our  loss, 

And  could  have  grovelled  straightway,  prone  in 

dust. 

But  looking  on  the  happy  death  he  died, 
And  thinking  of  the  holy  life  he  lived, 
And  knowing  he  was  one  of  those  that  soon 
Attain  their  starry  stature,  and  are  crowned, 
We  could  not  linger  in  the  dust  to  weep, 
But  were  upborne  from  earth  as  if  on  wings ; 
A  sunbeam  in  the  soul  dried  up  the  tears, 


IN  MEMORIAM.  135 

In  which  the  sorrow  trembled  to  be  gone ; 
For  his  dear  sake  we  could  afford  to  smile. 


"Why  should  we  weep,  when  't  is  so  well  with  him  ? 
Our  loss  even  cannot  measure  his  great  gain  ! 
Why  should  we  weep  when  death  is  but  a  mask 
Through  which  we  know  the  face  of  Life  beyond  ? 
Grief  did  but  bow  us  at  his  grave  to  show 
Far  more  of  Heaven  in  the  landscape  round  ! 

For  such  a  vestal  soul  as  his,  —  so  pure, 
So  crystal-clear,  so  filled  with  light,  we  lookt 
As  at  some  window  of  the  other  world, 
And  almost  saw  the  Angel  smiling  through  — 
'T  was  but  a  step  from  out  our  muddy  street 
Of  Earth,  on  to  the  pavement  all  of  pearl ! 

Why  should  we  weep  ?     We  do  not  bury  love ; 

We  cannot  seek  that  jewel  in  the  grave  ! 

The  dust  of  earth  but  claims  its  kindred  dust : 

We  do  not  bury  life,  and  cannot  feel 

The  grave-grass   grow  betwixt  our  warmth  and 

him ; 

Death  emptieth  the  House  but  not  the  Heart : 
That  keeps  its  darlings  safe  though  out  of  sight. 

Let  us  uplift  the  eyelids  of  the  Mind 
And  see  the  living  Love  who  dwelt  awhile 


136  IN  MEMORIAM. 

In  that  frail  body,  now  a  spirit  of  Light 

All  jubilant  upon  the  hills  of  God. 

This  gloom  we  feel,  this  mourning  that  we  wear, 

Is  but  the  Shadow  of  his  lordlier  height. 

Why  should  they  weep  who  have  another  friend 
In  death ;  another  thread  to  guide  them  through 
Life's  maze ;  another  tie  to  draw  them  home  ; 
A  firmer  foothold  in  the  infinite ; 
Another  kinsman  on  the  spiritual  side  ; 
Another  voice  to  greet  them  through  the  Void  ; 
Another  face  to  kindle  with  its  life 
The  pale  impersonality  of  God  ? 

The  dearest  souls,  you  know,  must  part  in  sleep, 
And  death  is  but  a  little  longer  night. 
A  little  while,  and  we  shall  wake  to  find 
Our  lost  ones  with  us  face  to  face,  and  feel 
All  years  of  yearning  summed  up  in  a  kiss. 

Why  should  we  fear  the  Grave  ?     It  is  the  bed 
Where  the  King  lay  in  State  with  Angels  round, 
And  hallowed  it  forevermore  to  us. 
Why  should  we  fear  the  Grave  ?     It  is  the  way 
The  Conqueror  went,  and  made  the  very  dust 
Grow  starry  with  the  sparkle  of  his  splendor,    . 
And  left  the  darkness  conscious  of  His  presence. 
We  can  look  down  upon  the  Grave  now  He 
Has  plumbed  it,  spanned  it,  one  foot  on  each  side. 


IN  MEM  OR! AM.  137 

Through  His  dear  love  who  hath  abolished  death, 
We  may  shut  up  our  Graveyards  of  the  heart 
That  lookt  so  grim  of  old,  and  plant  anew 
This  garden  of  our  God  to  smile  with  flowers. 

Why  do  we  shrink  so  from  Eternity  ? 

We  are  in  Eternity  from  Birth  not  Death  ! 

Eternity  is  not  beyond  the  stars  — 

Some  far  Hereafter  —  it  is  Here,  and  Now  ! 

The  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  within,  so  near 

We  do  not  see  it  save  by  spirit-sight. 

We  shut  our  eyes  in  prayer,  and  we  are  There 

In  thought,  and  Thoughts  are  spirit-things  — 

Realities  upon  the  other  side. 

In  death  we  close  our  eyelids  once  for  all 

To  pass  forever,  and  seem  far  away. 

And  yet  the  distance  does  not  lie  in  death : 

Death  'a  not  the  only  door  of  spirit-world, 

Nor  Visibility  sole  presence-sign  : 

The  Near  or  Far  is  in  our  depth  of  love 

And  height  of  life  :  We  look  WITHOUT,  to  find 

Our  lost  ones  are  beyond  all  human  reach  : 

We  feel  Within,  and  lo  !  they  are  nestling  near. 

Flow  soft,  ye  tears,  adown  my  Lady's  face, 
And  bathe  the  broken  spirit  with  your  balm, 
And  melt  the  cloiid  about  her  into  drops 
That  glister  with  the  light  of  Heaven's  own  smile. 


138  IN  MEMORIAM. 

And  thou,  God,  whisper  as  the  tears  do  fall, 
No  cloud  would  rise  to  rain  but  for  Thy  Sun  ! 
She  sorroweth  not  as  those  who  have  no  hope, 
Nor  is  her  House  left  wholly  desolate. 

0  Grief,  lie  lightly  on  my  Lady's  brow : 
She  gave  her  best  of  life  in  love  for  him ! 

A  crown  of  glory  wears  the  dear  bowed  head 
That  hath  grown  gray  in  noble  sacrifice. 

Ah  me,  I  know  the  heart  must  have  its  way. 

1  know  the  ache  of  utter  loneliness ; 

The  distance  between  those  that  were  so  near ; 
The  silence  never  broken  by  a  sound 
We  still  keep  listening  for  ;  the  spirit's  loss 
Of  its  old  clinging-place,  that  makes  our  life 
A  dead  leaf  drifting  desolately  free : 
The  many  thousand  things  we  had  to  say  ; 
And  on  the  dear  still  face  that  hushing  look, 
As  though  the  sweet  life-music  still  went  on 
Though  too  far  off  for  hearing  —  (as  it  doth}  ! 
Thrice  have  I  wrestled  and  been  thrown  by  Death, 
Thrice  have  I  given  my  dear  ones  to  the  grave  ; 
And  yet  I  know  —  see  it  in  spite  of  tears  : 
Say  it,  even  while  the  heart  breaks  in  the  voice  : 
These  are  His  ways  to  draw  us  nearer  Him. 
And  we  must  climb  by  pathways  of  the  cloud. 

He  breaks  the  image  to  reveal  Himself ! 

He  takes  our  dearest  things  to  woo  us  with ; 


IN  MEMORIAM.  139 

Takes,  for  a  little  while,  the  gift  he  gave 
Forever :  but  to  better  still  our  best. 

Feeling  for  that  which  fled,  our  finite  love 
Is  caught  up  in  the  clasp  o'  the  Infinite, 
Palpably  as  though  God  did  press  the  hand 
And  make  the  heart  well  up  and  flood  the  eyes 
With  that  proud  overflow  of  a  fuller  Heaven  ! 

O  Lady,  let  mine  he  the  song-bird's  part, 
That  singeth  after  rain  and  shakes  the  drops 
Down,  with  his  thrillings,  from  the  drooping  spray, 
And  sets  it  softly  springing  nigher  Heaven 
That  smiles  out  'twixt  the  clouds  with  gladdest 

blue ! 

Your  love-ties  have  but  lengthened  to  let  free 
The  shadowed  soul  that  needed  far  more  sun. 
So  the  fair  Lily,*  growing  down  the  dark 
Beside  her  lover,  yearneth  towards  Heaven 
And  lives  up  faster,  till  she  springs  afloat, 
To  sun  her  on  the  surface  of  the  stream  : 
And  now  she  draws  up,  even  by  the  root, 
Her  Love  left  pining  on  the  earth  below, 
Lifting  him  to  her  side  again,  full  flower ; 
And  't  is  his  Heaven  to  die  and  get  to  her  ! 

*  The  "  Valisneria,"  the  male  and  female  flowers  of  which 
appear  on  separate  plants ;  the  latter  blooming  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  water,  while  the  former  tears  its  roots  from  the 
soil  to  rise  and  blossom  and  die  beside  it. 


I40  IN  MEMORIAM. 

What  did  we  ask,  with  all  our  love  for  him, 
But  just  a  little  breath  of  fuller  life, 
To  float  the  laboring  lungs  ?     And  God  hath  given 
Him  Life  itself;  full,  everlasting  Life ! 
What  did  we  pray  for  ?     Rest,  even  for  a  night, 
That  he  might  rise  with  Sleep's  most  golden  dews 
Refreshed,  to  feel  the  morning  in  his  soul  1 
And  God  hath  given  him  His  Eternal  Rest. 
We  could  not  offer  freedom  for  one  hour 
From  that  dread  weight  of  weariness  they  bear 
Who  try  for  years  to  shake  Death's  Shadow  off: 
And  God  hath  made  him  free  forevermore. 

Before  me  hangs  his  Picture  on  the  wall, 
Alive  still,  with  the  loving,  cordial  eyes.  — 
How  tenderly  their  winsome  lustre  laughed !  — 
The  fine  pale  face,  pathetically  sweet, 
So  thin  with  suffering  that  it  seemed  a  soul : 
We  feared  the  Angels  might  be  kissing  it 
Too  often,  and  too  wooingly  for  us : 
The  hands,  so  woman-white  and  delicate, 
That  day  by  day  were  gliding  from  our  grasp  : 
They  used  to  make  my  heart  ache  many  a  time. 

I  see  another  picture  now.     The  form 
Ye  sowed  in  weakness  hath  been  raised  in  power ; 
A  palace  of  pleasure  for  a  prison  of  pain. 
The  beauty  of  his  nature  that  we  felt 


IN  MEMORIAM.  141 

Is  featured  in  the  shape  he  weareth  now ! 

The  same  kind  face,  but  changed  and  glorified ; 

From  Life's  unclouded  summit  it  looks  back, 

And  sweetly  smiles  at  all  the  sorrows  past, 

"With  such  a  look  as  taketh  away  grief : 

No  longer  pale,  and  there  is  no  more  pain. 

His  face  is  rosed  with  Heaven's  immortal  bloom 

For  he  hath  found  the  land  of  Health  at  last ; 

The  One  Physician  who  can  cure  all  ills : 

And  he  hath  eaten  of  the  Tree  of  Life, 

And  felt  the  Eternal  Spring  in  brain  and  breast 

Make  lusty  life  that  lightens  forth  in  love. 

Indeed,  indeed,  as  the  old  Poet  saith, 

He  was  a  very  perfect,  gentle  Knight ! 

A  natural  Noble,  by  the  grace  of  God : 

Affection  in  the  dearest  human  form. 

Yet,  gentle  as  he  was,  how  gallantly 

He  bore  his  sufferings,  kept  the  worst  from  sight, 

Having  the  heroic  flash  of  English  blood. 

How  freely  would  he  spend  his  little  hoard 

Of  saved-up  strength  with  spirit  lordly  and  blithe, 

To  enrich  a  welcome  and  make  gladder  cheer  ! 

And  to  the  Poor  he  was  all  tender  heart. 
The  very  last  time  that  he  talked  with  me 
His  trouble  was  to  know  how  poor  folks  lived 
Upon  so  small  a  pittance,  and  he  sighed 


I42  IN  MEMORIAM. 

For  life,  for  strength  to  do  more  than  he  could, 
And  in  his  kingly  eyes  great  sorrow  reigned. 


No  sighs,  no  weakness  now,  in  that  glad  world 

Where  yearning  avails  more  than  working  here, 

And  to  desire  is  to  accomplish  good  : 

For  Wishes  get  them  wings  of  power,  and  range 

Rejoicing  through  illimitable  life ; 

And  we  shall  find  some  Castles  built  in  Air 

Stand  good ;  are  habitable  after  all ! 

To  me,  his  life  is  like  the  innocent  Flower 

That  springs  up  for  the  light  and  spreads  for  love ; 

Breathes  fragrantly  in  gratitude  to  God, 

And  in  sweet  odors  passes  from  our  sight. 

But  there's  no  jot  of  all  his  promise  lost :  — 

Each  golden  hint  shall  have  fulfilment  yet  — 

All  that  was  heavenliest  perfected  in  heaven. 

All  the  shy  modesties  of  secret  soul 

That  breathed  like  violets  hidden  in  the  dusk ; 

The  folded  sweetness,  the  unfingered  bloom ; 

The  unsunned  riches  of  his  rarer  self; 

Are  shut  up  softly  to  be  saved  by  Him 

Who  gave  us  of  the  Flower,  but  keeps  the  fruit. 

The  best  his  life  could  grow  on  earth  is  given ; 
The  rest  can  ripen  till  ye  meet  in  heaven. 


IN  MEMORIAM.  143 

And  dear  my  Lady,  little  can  we  guess 

What  God  hath  planned  for  those  He  loves  so  much, 

And  beckons  home  so  early  to  Himself! 

May  some  full  foretaste  of  his  perfect  peace 

Fall  on  you,  solacing  with  solemn  joy. 

Of  such  as  he  was,  there  be  few  on  Earth, 

Of  such  as  he  is,  there  are  many  in  Heaven ; 

And  Life  is  all  the  sweeter  that  he  lived, 

And  all  he  loved  more  sacred  for  his  sake : 

And  Death  is  all  the  brighter  that  he  died, 

And  Heaven  is  all  the  happier  that  he  's  there.     / 

So,  one  by  one  the  dear  old  faces  fade. 

Hands  wave  their  far  farewell  while  beckoning  us 

Across  the  river,  all  must  pass  alone. 

We  stand  at  gaze  upon  their  shining  track, 

Until  the  two  worlds  mingle  in  a  mist, 

And  the  two  lives-  are  molten  into  one  : 

Familiar  things  grow  phantom-like  remote  ;  „ 

Things  visionary  draw  familiar-near  ; 

The  picture  that  we  gaze  on  seems  the  Real 

Looking  at  us,  and  we  the  Shadows  that  pass. 

And  yet  't  is  sweet  to  feel  —  as  underfoot, 
OUR  path  slopes  for  the  quiet  place  apart; 
Day  darkens  in  the  Valley  of  Death's  shade  — 
Our  best  half  landed  in  the  better  life  ; 
The  balance  leaning  to  the  other  side ; 


144  IN  MEMOEIAM. 

The  peaceftil  evening  comes  that  brings  all  home, 

And  we  are  weaning  kindly  to  leave  go 

Our  hold  of  earth  ;  life  in  the  Autumn-leaf 

Loosens  with  every  shower  ;  and  as  the  gloom 

Gathers,  and  things  are  growing  all  a-dusk, 

We  know  our  Stars  are  smiling  overhead ; 

In  their  eternal  setting  high  and  safe 

Where  they  can  look  down  on  our  passing  night, 

Glad  in  the  loftier  radiance  of  a  sun 

We  may  not  see,  with  steadfast  gaze  of  love 

Unfathomable  as  Eternity  : 

Dear  memories  of  Vesper  gentleness 

That  are  the  Phosphor  hopes  of  coming  day, 

And  death  grows  radiant  with  our  Shining  Ones. 

Blessed  are  they  whose  treasures  are  in  Heaven  ! 
Their  grief  's  too  rich  for  our  poor  comforting. 
Let  us  put  on  the  robe  of  readiness, 
,The  golden  trumpet  will  be  sounding  soon, 
That  bids  us  to  the  gathering  in  the  Heavens ! 
Let  us  press  forward  to  their  summit  of  life 
Who  have  ceased  to  pant  for  breath  and  won  their 

Eest, 
And  there  is  no  more  parting,  no  more  pain ! 


CARMINA    NUPTIALIA, 


10 


[Throughout  this  lyrical  Marriage  Service  there  is  con- 
tinual reference  to  the  preceding  Poem.] 


The  Story  of  all  stories,  sweet  and  old ; 
Sweetest  to  Lovers  the  last  time  'tis  told. 


CAKMINA  NUPTIALIA. 


WEDDED    LOVE. 

HIS  little  spring  of  life,  that  feeds  the 

root 

Of  England's  greatness,  giveth,   un- 
derground, 

Bloom  to  the  Flower,  and  freshness  to  the  Fruit  ; 
Then   wells  and  spreads,  with   golden  ripples 

round, 
In  circling  glory  to  a  sea  of  might, 

Embracing  Home  and  Country  of  our  love  ; 
Half-mirroring  the  beauty  beyond  sight  — 
Taking  some  likeness  of  the  above  abode. 


148  CARMINA  N  UP  T I  ALIA. 


THE   WEDDING. 

LL  Women  love  a  Wedding  !  old 

Or   youthful;    Mother,   Widow,   or 

Wife: 

It  lights  with  precious  gleam  of  gold 
The  river  of  poorest  life  : 


For  one,  the  gold  is  far  and  dim ; 

For  one,  a  glimpse  of  things  to  be ; 
But  here  it  sparkles,  at  the  brim 
Of  full  felicity ! 

And  they  will  cluster  by  the  way ; 

Crowd  at  this  Eden-gate,  with  eyes 

That  run,  and  pray  that  this  Pair  may 

Keep  their  new  Paradise. 

Green  is  the  garden,  as  at  first ; 

As  smiling-blue  the  happy  skies, 
Where  float  the  bubble-worlds  that  burst, 
And  leave  us  smarting  eyes. 

They  seem  to  think  that  these  must  clasp 

The  jewel  turned  to  dew  or  mist : 
The  glamour  they  could  never  grasp, 

Though  wedded  lips  have  kissed ; 


THE   WEDDING.  149 

That  this  gold  Apple  of  promise,  crowned 

With  redness  on  the  sunny  side, 
Will  gradually  grow  ripe  all  round ; 

That  this  new  Lover  and  Bride 

Must  reach  the  breathing  Magic  Rose 

Such  cunning  spirits  hold  in  air, 
On  which  our  fingers  could  not  close, 

Even  when  we  knew  't  was  there  ! 

This  nest  of  hopes  will  bring  forth  young 

Unto  the  brooding  heart's  low  call  — 
Not  merely  pretty  birds'-eggs,  strung 
To  hide  a  naked  wall ! 

So  many  start  thus,  hand-in-hand  — 
Few  only  reach  the  blessed  goal ; 
But  these  shall  surely  see  the  land 
Hid  somewhere  in  the  soul. 

And  delicate  airs  creep  sweetly  through 
Old  bridal-chambers  dusty  and  dim  : 
Down  from  a  far  heaven  warm  and  blue, 
The  mellow  splendors  swim. 

The  Woman's  eyes  grow  loving  wet ; 
They  dazzle  with  the  morning  ray  : 
The  Woman's  longing  will  beget 

Her  own  dear  wedding-day  ! 


150  CARMINA  NUPTIALIA. 

In  his  network  of  wrinkles,  Age 

May  veil  their  virgin  beauties  now ; 
Faces  be  furrowed  —  a  strange  page 
Of  writing  on  the  brow  : 

The  smiling  soul  cannot  erase 

The  sad  life-lines  it  shines  above ; 
Yet,  imaged  in  the  dear  old  face, 

You  see  their  own  young  love ! 

The  sleeping  Beauty  wakes  anew 

Beneath  the  touch  of  tender  tears ; 
The  Flower  unfolds,  to  drink  the  dew, 
That  seemed  dead  for  years. 

All  hearts  are  as  a  grove  of  birds 

Spring-toucht  and  chirruping  every  one ; 
And  each  will  set  the  Wedding- Words 
To  a  music  of  her  own. 

Some  withered  remnant  of  old  bliss 

Flushing  on  faded  cheeks  they  bring, 
Telling  of  times  when  Love's  young  kiss 
Was  a  fire-offering ; 

And  spirits  walk  in  white,  as  starts 

This  bridal-tint  that  blooms  anew  ; 
And  so,  with  all  their  Woman-hearts, 

They  fling  Good  Luck's  old  shoe  ! 


SERENADE.  151 


SERENADE. 

WAKE,  sweet  Love,  for  Heaven  is  awake, 
And  waiting  to  be  gracious  for  thy  sake  I 
All  night  I  saw  thy  fairness  gleam  afar 
With  fresh,  pure  sparkle  of  the  Morning- 
Star  : 

Awake,  my  Love,  and  let  the  veil  be  drawn 
From  Beauty  bathed  at  the  springs  of  Dawn. 

"  Awake,  sweet  Love,  for  Heaven  is  awake, 

And  waiting  to  be  gracious  for  thy  sake. 

A  touch  upon  some  silver-sounding  string, 
As  all  the  harps  of  heaven  were  vibrating 
Within  me,  woke  me,  bade  me  rise  and  say 
« Awake,  my  Love,  this  is  our  wedding-day.' 

"  Awake,  sweet  Love,  for  Heaven  is  awake, 

And  waiting  to  be  gracious  for  thy  sake. 
It  is  the  tender  time  when  turtle-doves 
Begin  to  murmur  of  their  vernal  loves : 
Spirits  that  all  night  nestled  in  the  flowers 
Shake  perfume  from  their  wings  this  hour  of  hours. 

"  Awake,  sweet  Love,  for  Heaven  is  awake, 
And  waiting  to  be  gracious  for  thy  sake. 


152  CARMINA  NUPTIAL1A. 

To  fed  ih.ee,  mine  my  faith  is,  large  enough, 
And  yet  the  miracle  needs  continual  proof! 
One  minute  satisfied,  the  next  I  pine 
For  just  one  more  assurance  thou  art  mine. 

"  Awake,  sweet  Love,  for  Heaven  is  awake, 

And  waiting  to  be  gracious  for  thy  sake. 

Thy  presence  sets  my  cloudland  round  about 
Glowing  as  heaven  were  turning  inside  out  : 
And  all  the  mists  that  darkened  me  erewhile 
Are  smitten  into  splendors  at  thy  smile. 

"  Awake,  sweet  Love,  for  Heaven  is  awake, 

And  waiting  to  be  gracious  for  thy  sake. 

Our  great  sunrise  of  life  begins  to  glow, 
And  all  the  buds  of  love  are  ripe  to  blow ; 
And  all  the  Birds  of  Bliss  are  gayly  singing, 
And  all  the  bridal-Bells  of  Heaven  are  ringing." 


ARGUING  IN  A   CIRCLE. 

j  HEN  first  my  true  Love  crowned  me  with 

her  smile, 
Methought  that  heaven  encircled  me  the 

while  ! 

When  first  my  true  Love  to  mine  arms  was  given, 
Ah,  then  methought  that  I  encircled  Heaven." 


AN  APRIL   WEDDING.  153 


AN  APRIL  WEDDING. 

APRIL  Wedding, 

Sad-smiling,  shadowy -bright ; 
The  Grave  at  foot,  and  overhead 

The  merry  Bird  of  Light ! 


O  April  Wedding, 

The  conscious  ear  at  times 
Detects  the  Bell  that  tolled  the  knell 

Among  the  Marriage-Chimes ! 

O  April  Wedding, 

Thy  hues  together  run,  — 
Through  wet  eyes  seen,  —  as  Red  and  Green 

Dazzle  till  they  grow  one  ! 

O  April  Wedding, 

Where  Love  is  crowned  in  tears, 
And  on  a  ground  of  deepest  gloom, 

Hope's  brightest  Bow  appears  ! 

O  April  Wedding, 

In  glittering  sun  and  showers 
The  very  grave  looks  glad  To-day, 

And  dead  hands  offer  flowers  ! 


154  CARMINA  NUPTIALIA. 

0  April  Wedding, 

Thy  clouds  go  all  in  white ; 
Those  that  darkliest  wept  now  smile 

Most  glorified  in  light ! 


LEAVE-TAKING. 

HEN  the  wings  are  feathered, 

The-birds  forsake  their  nest; 
So  the  Bride  will  leave  her  Home 
Leaning  to  her  Lover's  breast. 
The  tear  was  in  her  eye, 

But  the  soul  was  smiling  through, 
Brimful  of  sunshine 

As  a  drop  of  summer  dew. 


AS   THEY  PASSED 


Love's  chariot,  side  by  side, 
Sweetness  and  Strength  did  never  ride 
More  perfectly  personified  : 
One  of  the  dearest  Angels  out 

Of  Heaven,  the  Bride  was,  beyond  doubt  ; 

And  his  a  Manhood  fit  to  be 


EVOE.  155 

The  mortal  Mansion  of  some  deity. 
All  eyes,  like  jewels,  on  them  hung 

Glowing  with  precious  life, 
As  at  her  Husband's  side  she  clung 

The  nestled,  new-made  Wife ! 
Glad  were  they  in  the  happiness  they  gave, 
But  in  their  own  proud  pleasure  they  were  grave. 


EVCXE. 

N  the  presence  of  Spring,  our  beautiful 

Spring, 
Blithe  bird  of  the  Bosom!    the  heart 

will  sing. 
A  Spirit  of  Joy  in  the  oldest  breast 
Is  stirring,  and  making  it  young  as  the  rest : 
Wakes  a  new  life  to  leap  in  each  limb, 
And  laugh  out  of  eyes  that  were  wintry  and  dim; 
So  the  old  Wine  stirs  in  his  winter  gloom, 
And  wants  to  waken,  and  climb,  and  bloom, 
As  he  used  to  do  in  the  world  outside, 
When  grapes  grew  big  in  their  purple  of  pride. 
He  would  laugh  in  the  light,  he  would  flush  in  the 

foam; 

In  a  care-drowning  wave  he  would  rosily  roam ; 
For  his  blood  is  so  mellow,  so  merry,  so  warm, 


156  CARMINA  NUPT1ALIA. 

Into  spirit  of  joy  it  would  fain  transform, 

And  in  human  life  keep  holiday — 

Kioting  ruddily,  ripple  and  play ; 

Break  on  the  brain  in  a  luminous  spray, 

Tinting  with  heaven  our  earthly  clay ; 

In  a  fiery  chariot  mount  on  its  way, 

With  spirit-company,  lordly  and  gay, 

And  pass  like  a  soul  that  is  lost  in  day. 

So  the  Spirit  of  Joy  in  the  oldest  breast 

Is  stirring,  and  making  it  young  as  the  rest ; 

Wakes  a  new  life  to  leap  in  each  limb, 

And  laugh  out  of  eyes  that  were  wintry  and  dim. 

Blithe  bird  of  the  bosom !  the  heart  will  sing 

In  the  presence  of  Spring,  our  beautiful  Spring. 


A  FACT   THAT   FLOWERS   DOUBLE. 

ENGLISH   John   Talbot,    Shakespeare's 

terribly  brave 

Great  Fighter,  lay  in  his  forgotten  grave. 
It  was  but  yesterday  they  found  his  dust, 
The  sheath  of  that  old  Sword  all  gone  to  rust 
In  English  earth;  his  burial-place  recover 
In  lands  owned  by  a  certain  Lordly  Lover. 
And,  lo !  a  Rose  had  sprung  from  out  his  tomb, 
And  climbed  about  the  Lover's  life  to  bloom : 


A    WAYSIDE   WHISPER. 


157 


A  peerless  flower  of  the  old  Hero's  stock  — 

The  tenderest  gush  from  that  heroic  rock. 

Not  oft  doth  Fate  vouchsafe  so  plain  a  sign, 

Prefiguring  the  lives  that  are  to  twine. 

All  sweetness  to  this  wedded  life  be  given  ; 

Its  root  so  deep  in  earth,  its  perfect  flower  in  heaven. 


A  WAYSIDE   WHISPER. 

jjj E  VEN  years  I  served  for  you, 

To  Love,  our  lord  of  life, 
Ere  he  made  me  a  Master 

And  I  won  you  far  my  wife,  — 
So  faithfully,  so  fondly, 

Through  a  world  of  doubts  and  fears, 
Seven  long  years,  Beloved  ! 
Seven  long  years. 

"  Seven  years  you  beaconed  me  — 

My  leading,  crowning  star, 
To  climb  the  Mount  of  Manhood, 

And  you  drew  me  from  afar  : 
You  made  my  gray  hours  golden, 

You  glistened  through  my  tears, 
Seven  long  years,  Beloved! 

Seven  long  years. 


158  C ARM  IN  A  NUPTIALIA. 

"  Sometimes  you  shined  so  near  me  — 

Far  as  we  dwelt  apart  — 
I  hardly  sought  you  with  my  arms 

You  were  so  safe  at  heart  I 
Sometimes  you  dwined  so  distant 

I  bowed  with  solemn  fears ; 
Seven  long  years,  Beloved  I 

Seven  long  years. 

"  I  built  my  Arch  of  Triumph 

For  you  to  ride  through ; 
I  kept  my  lamps  all  lighted 

That  the  warring  winds  outblew : 
I  worked  and  I  waited 

And  I  fought  down  my  fears, 
Seven  long  years,  Beloved  ! 

Seven  long  years. 

"  Now  the  perils  are  all  over, 

And  the  pains  all  past, 
My  fortune's  wheel  full-circle  comes 

In  your  dear  eyes  at  last ! 
For  such  a  prize  the  winning 

Most  brief  and  poor  appears, 
Yet,  't  was  seven  long  years,  Beloved  ! 

Seven  long  years." 


THE   WELCOME  HOME.  159 


THE   WELCOME    HOME. 

!  ARM  is  the  Welcome  !   't  is  our  way  to 

grasp 
The  hand  in  love  or  greeting  till  it 

ache; 

But  to  a  tender  heart  our  love  doth  take 
The  happy  pair  it  doth  so  proudly  clasp. 

And  very  tender  in  its  love  To-day 

Is  every  heart  toucht  with  a  thought  of  Him 
Low-lying  in  the  Cyprus-shadow  dim, 

From  which  we  came  to  waft  you  on  your  way. 

And  the  still  face,  that  looks  from  Ashridge  towers 
With  smile  more  regnant  in  its  touching  ruth, 
And  sad  hoar-frost  upon  the  dews  of  youth, 

And  Widow's  weeds  to  mix  with  bridal-flowers. 

Through  Him  we  lost,  we  have  more  love  to  give. 
As  some  fond  Mother  yearningly  hath  breathed 
Her  life  out  in  the  new  life  she  bequeathed, 

Our  dearest  died  that  this  great  love  might  live. 

These  darling  Violets,  eloquently  mute, 

Are  rich  in  sadder  bloom  and  sweeter  breath, 
And  that  pathetic  sanctity  of  death, 

Because  our  buried  joy  was  at  their  root. 


160  C ARM  IN  A   N  UP  T I  ALIA. 

These  Eoses  blush  with  a  more  vital  glow 

Of  crimson  —  like  pale  buds,  whose  tips  are  red 
As  though  the  flower's  heart,  in  breaking,  bled  — 

Because  of  looks  so  lately  wan  with  woe. 

These  are  our  Jewels  !  tears  that  purged  our  sight 
Like  Euphrasy ;  they  lay  above  the  Dead 
All  drear  and  dim ;  but  the  sad  drops  we  shed 

Now  live  with  twinkling  lustres  in  Your  light! 

The  love  that  darkly  wept  at  heart  hath  risen 
Transfigured.     See  its  sunburst  in  each  face ! 
As  Earth,  with  all  her  flowers,  smiles  embrace 

To  Spring,  rejoicing  froq^her  wintry  prison. 

These  Voices,  mounting  merry  as  Larks  upspring, 
But  now  were  praying  on  the  low,  cold  sod : 
The  night  is  past  —  they  soar  in  praise  to  God ; 

They  make  the  old  English  greeting  rarely  ring. 

We  lean  and  look  to  You,  thinking  of  Him. 

Warm  welcome  for  the  sake  of  One  that  'a  gone ; 

Warm  welcome  for  your  own  !    Pass  on,  pass  on ; 
We  wave  our  hands,  and  shout  till  sight  grows  dim  : 

And,  ere  the  shouts  cease  ringing  in  your  ears, 
We  drink  a  health  —  all  standing  —  drink  to  you, 
While  in  our  eyes  the  tears  are  standing  too : 

Old  tears,  that  wanted  to  be  wept  for  years  : 


THE   WELCOME  HOME.  161 

But  keep  a  holy  hush  'mid  all  the  noise, 

To  match  the  silent  music  your  hearts  make : 
Pass  on  into  your  faery  heaven,  and  take 

Our  gentlest  blessing  on  your  wedded  joys. 

The  dawn  will  rise,  though  golden  days  be  set  j 
The  birds  sing  merrily,  in  spite  of  Death ; 
Young  hearts  will  love  while  lasts  this  human 

breath ; 

Rainbows  bridge  Earth  and  Heaven  for  eyes  tear- 
wet. 

Pass  gayly  on  in  glory  through  the  gate 

Of  your  new  life,  beneath  this  Bridal-Dawn ; 
And  when  from  future  days  the  veil  is  drawn 

All  happy  fortunes  for  you  lie  in  wait ! 

And,  looking  on  your  bliss,  with  proudest  flush 
May  the  dear  Mother's  face  be  glorified. 
We,  now  the  sound  hath  ceased,  will  stand  out- 
side 

Your  Portals  —  all  hearts  praying  'mid  the  hush. 


ii 


162  CARMINA  NUPTIALIA. 


THE   BONNY   BRIDELAND   FLOWER. 


N  the  Brideland  sleeping, 

Nestled  Beauty's  Flower ; 
Came  the  Lover  peeping 
Into  her  green  bower ; 
On  her  face  hung  tender 

As  a  drop  of  dew ; 
With  her  virgin  splendor 

Thrilling  through  and  through. 

Now,  the  shy,  sweet  maiden 

Softly  droops  her  head : 
All  her  heart  is  laden 

With  his  coming  tread ! 
Now  the  new  dawn  breaketh 

In  a  blush  of  bliss ; 
The  Beloved  waketh 

At  her  Troth-love's  kiss. 

In  our  dull  gray  weather 

We  have  seen  her  bloom ; 
Fain  as  Exiles  gather 

Round  some  flower  from  Home ; 
Seen  the  face  that  never 

Fades  away,  but  gleams, 
With  its  still  smile,  ever 

Through  the  land  of  Dreams. 


A  LOVER'S  SONG.  163 

Fair  befall  the  bonny, 

Bonny  Brideland  flower! 
All  things  dear  and  sunny 

Bless  her  bridal  bower ! 
Truest  love  e'er  given 

Feed  her  new  life-root ; 
And  thou  God  in  heaven, 

Crown  the  flower  with  fruit. 


A  LOVER'S   SONG. 


NE  so  fair  —  none  so  fair. 

In  her  eyes  so  true 
Love's  most  inner  Heaven  bare 
To  the  balmiest  blue  ! 


"  One  so  fair  —  none  so  fair. 

In  the  skies  no  Star 
Like  my  Star  of  Earth  so  near- 

They  but  shine  afar. 

"  One  so  fair — none  so  fair. 

All  too  sweet  it  seems  : 
Wake  me  not,  0  world  of  care, 

If  I  walk  in  dreams. 


164  C ARM  IN  A  NUPTIALIA.    ' 

"  One  so  fair  —  none  so  fair. 

0  my  bosom-guest, 
Love  ne'er  smiled  a  happier  pair 

To  the  bridal-nest. 

"  One  so  fair  —  none  so  fair. 

Lean  to  me,  sweet  Wife: 
Light  will  be  the  load  we  bear: 

Two  hearts  in  one  life." 


THE   MARRIED   LIFE. 


HAPPY  love  of  weans  and  Wife, 
Ye  make  a  man's  heart  dance ; 

Kindle  the  desert  face  of  life 
With  colors  of  romance  : 


A  Land  of  Promise  sparkles  where 
Your  rosier  light  hath  shone ; 

Too  distant  to  attain,  bnt  near 
Enough  to  tempt  us  on. 

'T  is  here  that  Heaven  striketh  root 
To  give  the  Immortal  birth, 

Man  tastes  the  unforbidden  fruit 
That  deifies  on  earth. 


VIA   CRUCIS  VIA  LUC  IS.  165 

All  ye  that  such  a  Garden  own, 

Of  winged  thieves  beware, 
And  trifles,  light  as  thistle-down, 

That  sow  the  seeds  of  care. 

Only  in  singleness  of  heart, 

Ye  keep  the  heaven  ye  win ! 
When  Wife  and  Husband  pull  apart 

The  Serpent  will  slide  in. 


VIA  CRUCIS   VIA  LUCIS. 

3PITE  of  the  Mask  Eternal  Love  doth 

wear 
At  times,  that  makes  us  shrink  from  it 

in  fear, 

Because  the  Father's  face  we  cannot  find, 
Nor  feel  the  presence  of  His  love  behind, 
Nature  at  heart  is  very  pitiful. 

How  gentle  is  the  hand  doth  k'ndly  pull 
The  coverlet  of  flowers  over  the  face 
Of  Death,  and  light  up  his  dark  dwelling-place! 
With  fingers  and  with  footfall  soft  and  low 
She  comes  to  make  the  quiet  mosses  grow': 
Safe-smiling,  draws   the  Snow-drop  through  the 
snow. 


166  CARMINA  NUPTIALIA. 

Busy  in  sun  and  rain,  she  strives  to  heal, 

Doing  her  best  to  comfort  or  conceal : 

With    tenderest   grass    makes   green  the  saddest 

grave, 

And  over  death  her  flags  of  life  will  wave. 
She  is  the  Angel,  waiting  by  the  prison, 
That  saith,  "  He  is  not  here,  he  is  arisen," 
When  lorn  in  soul  we  seek  jthe  face  we  knew, 
And  dream  of  buried  sweetness  coming  through 
The  earth  in  spring-time,  every  flower  a  smile 
Of  that  dear  Presence  we  have  lost  awhile. 

Thus,  on  our  old  Crimean  battle-ground, 

A   poor,   unknown,   dead    Soldier's   bones   were 

found,  — 

(Known  with  those  noble  Englishmen  of  ours  !) 
When  the  next  May  came  with  her  sweet  Wild 

Flowers, 

Nestled  they  lay  above-ground  in  a  grave 
Of  tall,  plumed  grass,  funereally  a-wave 
In  the  West-wind  that  breathed  of  Home  :   and 

tender 
There   rose  from  earth  a  dawn  of  such  spring 

splendor, 

As  if  the  heavens  were  breaking  through  the  tomb : 
The  Wild  Flowers  had  so  buried  them  in  bloom. 

And,  if  we  lift  our  eyes  up  from  the  ground, 
We  see  how  surely  life  is  compassed  round 


VIA   CRUCIS  VIA  LUCIS.  167 

With  the  Divine,  that  doth  so  kindly  bound 
The  pitiless  blaze  of  fires  that  soon  would  scorch 
To  ashes  and  put  out  our  tiny  torch 
Of  being ;  veil  the  vast-ness  of  the  Whole, 
As  with  droopt  eyelids  for  the  naked  soul. 

The  silent  Ministers  of  Healing  crowd 
About  the  broken  heart  and  spirit  bowed, 
To  stay  the  bleeding  with  immortal  balm. 
And  still  the  cries  with  wings  of  blessed  calm ; 
Out  of  the  old  death  make  the  new  life  spring, 
Our  earthly-buried  hopes  take  homeward  wing ; 
And  to  each  blinding  tear  that  dimmed  our  sight, 
They  give  a  starrier  self ;  a  Spirit  of  Light. 

No  matter  in  what  separate  lives  we  range, 
We  feel  a  rootage  deeper  than  all  change. 
We  know  the  roses  flower  to  fade  :  We  know 
The  roses  also  fade  again  to  blow. 
Death  is  Life's  Shadow  ! 

Mute  the  music  looks, 

And  dark  and  dead  when  shadowed  in  the  books  : 
Do  but  interpret  it,  all  heaven  will  roll 
The  Life  of  Music  through  the  echoing  soul. 

So  we  grow  friends,  familiar  friends,  with  Death ; 
Can  look  up  in  his  face  with  firmer  faith, 
To  see  the  frowning  brows  shade  tender  eyes, 
Like  sunny  openings  into  Paradise. 


168  CARMINA  NUPTIALIA. 

Through  all  the  gloom  and  stillness  of  distress, 

With  life  all  muffled  up  in  silentness, 

We  voyage  on  —  ice-locked,  snow-blind,  frost- 
bound  — 

Like  Sailors  with  the  Arctic  winter  round, 

Who  thought  they  stranded  in  the  dark,  and 
found 

The  solid  water  all  one  floating  ground ; 

And  drifted  through  the  night,  divinely  drawn, 

Out  to  the  open  sea,  where  daylight  shone. 

The  Shadow  of  Death  is  changed  into  the  Dawn, 
That  radiant  Angel  of  Eternity  ! 
The  mourners  look  up  from  the  grave  to  see 
The  dark,  that  bowed  them  by  its  awfulness, 
Fell  from  the  Father's  hands,  spread  out  to  bless. 

So,  in  His  own  good  season,  God  hath  given 
This  beautiful  Joy-Bringer  from  His  Heaven, 
To  bear  His  benediction  from  above, 
And  be  the  smiling  Presence  of  His  love ! 

11 1  go,  but  I  will  send  the  Comforter  !  " 
The  gracious  promise  is  fulfilled  in  Her. 
Though  heaviness  endurethfor  a  night, 
Joy  cometh  with  the  morning.     Lo  !  the  Light. 
Gone  is  the  winter  from  our  spirit  clime ; 
This  is  the  herald  of  our  golden  time. 


VIA    CRUCIS  VIA  LUC  IS.  169 

In  all  the  beauty  of  promise,  Spring  is  here  — 
Our  Spring  —  that  will  be  with  us  all  the  year. 

O  beautiful  Joy-Bringer !  everywhere 
Happiness  smiles  around  you,  like  an  air 
Of  glory,  which  you  dwell  in  —  Phosphor-fair ! 
The  lives  that  have  in  mourning  darkling  lain 
Now  gather  color ;  sun  them  once  again. 
The  tender  shine  that  cometh  after  rain 
Illumes  the  eyes  of  old  heart-ache  :  the  pain 
Of  loss  transmuted  to  all-golden  gain. 

Just  now  we  are  in  the  shadow  of  coming  change, 
And  faces  darken,  and  old  things  grow  strange ; 
And  from  the  new  Unknown  a  many  shrink. 
Our  world  is  getting  tilted,*  Sages  think. 
"  The  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees  " 
All  that  is  left  us.     Shame  on  fears  like  these ! 
Whate'er  Eclipse  may  come,  storm-signals  threat, 
There  's  room  for  noble  life  in  England  yet. 
As  in  the  very  heart  of  Hope  we  '11  ride, 
Borne  on  the  ninth  wave  of  our  triumph's  tide, 
That   with   its   new   life  heaves   Old   England' 

breast, 

Only  be  loyal  to  the  Loftiest ; 
Arise  and  crown  old  sanctities  anew, 
By  nobler  conquest  make  your  lordship  true ; 
*  Astronomically. 


170  C ARM  IN  A  N  UP  T I  ALIA. 

Awake  the  spirit  in  our  English  blood, 

That  slowly  brightens  to  the  fervid  flood, 

And  does  not  flash  till  the  leap  comes  that  shows 

Power  all  the  lustier  for  its  long  repose. 

And  if  the  proudest  Nobles  have  to  bow, 

Then  let  it  be  as  Bowers  bend  to  row 

A  sturdier  stroke ;  and  faint  not,  though  we  know 

Not  under  what  dark  arch  we  have  to  go. 

But  win  the  nod  of  an  approving  soul, 

Even  though  ye  never  reach  your  chosen  goal. 

O,  young  hearts,  dancing  to  the  rise  and  fall 
Of  life's  most  winsome  tune  at  festival, 
Looking  on  your  new  world  wherein  ye  move 
With  all  the  large,  sweet  wonder  of  young  love, 
The  moments  thronging  with  the  life  of  years ; 
Crowded  with  happiness  and  quick  to  tears ; 
New  smiles  of  greeting  in  each  minute's  face ; 
New  worlds  of  pleasure  brimming  every  space ; 
This  is  no  winter-withered  earth  to  you. 
Love  comes,  and  life  is  deified  anew  ! 
And  hearts  grow  larger  than  their  fortunes  are. 
The  horizon  lifts  around,  sublime  and  far, 
With  god-like  breathing-space,  —  an  ample  scope 
For  loftier  life,  and  glorious  ground  for  hope. 

Turn,  happy  Lovers,  turn  on  those  below 
A  little  of  the  light  in  which  ye  glow ; 


VIA   CRUCIS  VIA  LUC  IS.  171 

A  little  of  your  sunshine  round  you  shed, 

And  make  our  old  world  blossom  where  ye  tread. 

Bring  back  a  little  seed  from  Eden-bowers 

To  sow  our  fallows  with  immortal  flowers. 

Ah !     Nobles,  what  a  chance  is  yours  to  be 

The  founders  of  a  lordlier  Chivalry ! 

And,  with  the  proud  old  fire  this  people  lead. 

When  they  were  weak,  I  threatened ;  now  I  plead, 

Give  eyes  to  their  blind  strength,  for  great  the  need. 

The  Word  of  Life  is  wellnigh  preached  to  death ; 

The  Flower  of  all  Sweetness  withereth 

Crusht  in  the  grip  of  many  that  handle  it, 

As  though  they  thought  Life  would  but  yield  its 

sweet 
In  giving  up. the  breath. 

We  want  the  Book 

Translated  into  life,  not  the  mere  look 
Of  Life  embalmed  and  shrouded  in  the  Book. 
We  want  the  Word  made  Flesh  to  breathe  once 

more 

In  likeness  of  the  lineaments  it  wore 
Living,  —  the  life  indeed,  quick  in  the  lives 
Of  Fathers,  Mothers,  Children,  Husbands,  Wives. 
We  need  that  maiden  life  of  Christ  fulfilled 
In  Marriage,  —  all  its  preciousness  distilled. 
We  need  the  life  itself —  lived  in  the  Home 
On  Week-days,  ere  the  Sabbath-rest  will  come 
To  many  a  homeless  hungerer  for  home. 


172  CARMINA  NUPTIALIA. 

We  pray  "  Thy  Kingdom   Come."      But  not  by 

prayer 

Alone  will  it  be  built  of  breath  in  air. 
In  life  through  labor,  must  be  brought  to  birth 
The  Kingdom ;  as  it  is  in  heaven,  on  Earth. 

The  light  that  left  Heaven  centuries  ago 
Hath  not  yet  reached  dark  myriads  here  below  : 
Tour  lives  might  be  the  lamp  that  bears  this  light, 
Still  burning,  as  the  stars  through  all  the  night. 
Because  ye  are  looh  up  to,  they  would  mark 
Your  shining ! 

O,  the  spirits  lying  dark 
To-day,  as  jewels  waiting  but  the  spark 
Of  splendor  that  to  Love's  dear  smile  is  given, 
To  brighten  with  the  best  that  brighten  Heaven ! 
Look  down,  you  Shining  Ones,  look  kindly  down, 
And  save  them,  set  as  jewels  in  your  crown. 

How  beautiful  upon  the  mountain  height, 
The  feet  of  them  that  bring  the  Lowly  light  — 
O'ershadowing,  on  wings  of  gentle  Love, 
The  faults  and  failings  that  they  soar  above ! 
How  beautiful  the  face  of  those  whose  smile 
Doth  make  God's  sunshine  in  the  heart  of  Toil ; 
In  low  sick-rooms  a  presence  as  of  Health ; 
The  true  Rich  folk,  in  whom  the  Poor  have  wealth ! 
A  beautiful  life  begets  itself  anew 


VIA   CRUCIS  VIA  LUCIS.  173 

In  other  lives,  as  perfume  stealing  through 
The  sense  creates  the  flower  to  live  again ; 
Its  spirit  re-embodied  in  the  brain. 

Heart  full  of  shining  love  and  singing  hopes, 
Come  down  where  life,  blindfolded,  grovels  and 

gropes. 

We  house  the  Poor  to  lie  and  die.     But  give 
Them  room  to  stand  in ;  house  the  Poor  to  live ; 
A  little  touch  of  clasping  hands  might  prove 
Mightiest  of  all  the  languages  of  Love. 
Give  them  a  glimpse  of  kindlier,  sweeter  grace, 
And  be  the  model  of  a  nobler  race,  — 
The  living  Poem  that  we  may  not  write ; 
The  picture  that  we  cannot  paint  to  sight; 
The  music  that  we  dream  but  do  not  get ; 
The  Statue  marble  never  mirrored  yet. 
Come  down,  and  meet  them,  fellow-man  to  man 
So  much  we  might  do,  as  it  seems,  to  span 
The  ancient  gulf  that  severs  Rich  and  Poor, 
In  which  Christ  threw  Himself;  forever  more 
To  show  His  sorrowing  Poor  that  God  hath  not 
Forgotten  those  he  seemed  to  have  forgot ! 

And  the  gulf  closes  not,  and  He  doth  reach 
On  either  side  a  piteous  hand  to  each : 
One  are  they  by  the  message  that  He  gave ; 
One  by  the  life  He  lived ;  one  by  His  grave ; 


174  CARMINA  N  UP  T I  ALIA. 

One  by  the  tears  He  wept  —  the  love  —  the  pain ; 
And  still  they  stand  apart,  and  He  is  torn  atwain. 

Now  while  the  Thrush  upon  the  barest  bough 

Sits  singing  high  in  azure,  telling  how 

The  Spring-wind  wanders  where  the  Children  go 

A-violeting  by  the  warm  hedgerow ; 

Daily  more  rich  the  Sallow-palms  unfold 

And  change  their  silver  into  sunny  gold ; 

"  Good  by,  old  Winter,"  the  blue  heavens  laugh; 

"  The  flowers  shall  write  you  a  kindly  epitaph," 

Far  on  a  sea  of  Light  the  twinkling  Lark 

Is  launched,  and  floating  like  a  heaven-bound  bark, 

In  which  some  happy  spirit  sails  and  sings, 

And  stirs  us  in  a  dream  of  waking  wings, 

With  homeward  yearnings,  heavenward  flutterings, 

As  all  about  the  inner  life  there  plays 

A  breath  of  bliss  from  out  old  innocent  days, 

Now,  while  the  Spring  mounts  somewhere  up  the 

blue, 

We  bring  our  firstling  flowers  to  offer  you  ! 
Violets,  dim  and  tender  ;  glad  Primroses, 
That  promise,  ere  the  happy  prospect  closes, 
Ye,  hand  in  hand,  through  rosier  days  shall  tread 
Green  earth,  with  richer  glories  garlanded  j 
Where  the  wild  Hyacinths,  all  a-dreaming,  lean, 
In  peeps  of  deep  sea-azure  through  the  green  ; 
And  Summer  sets  that  Golden  Age  of  hers 


VIA    CRUCIS   VIA  LUCIS.  175 

A-bloom,  in  mellow  miles  of  yellow  Furze ; 
While,  smiling  down  the  distance,  Autumn  stands, 
The  ripened  fruitage  glowing  in  his  hands. 

And,  if  among  the  flowers  some  few  appear 

Sacred  to  woe,  and  leaning  with  the  tear 

Still  in  the  eyes,  I  did  but  seek  the  leaf 

Of  Healing- — gather  Heartsease  for  your  grief: 

Nor  are  they  tears,  but  rather  drops  of  dew 

From  heaven,  that  hidden  Love  is  looking  through. 

p 
As,  after  death,  our  Lost  Ones  grow  our  Dearest, 

k  So,  after  death,  our  Lost  ones  come  the  nearest  : 
They  are  not  lost  in  distant  worlds  above  ; 
They  are  our  nearest  link  in  God's  own  love  — 
The  human  hand-clasps  of  the  Infinite, 
That  life  to  life,  spirit  to  spirit  knit ! 
They  fill  the  rift  they  made,  like  veins  of  gold 
In  fire-rent  fissures  torture-torn  of  old  ! 
With  sweetness  store  the  empty  place  they  left, 
As  of  wild  honey  in  the  rock's  bare  cleft. 

In  hidden  ways  they  aid  this  life  of  ours, 
As  Sunshine  lends  a  finger  to  the  flowers, 
Shadowed  and  shrouded  in  the  Wood's  dim  heart, 
To  climb  by  while  they  push  their  grave  apart. 
They  think  of  us  at  Sea,  who  are  safe  on  Shore ; 
Light  up  the  cloudy  coast  we  struggle  for ! 


176  CARMINA  NUPTIALIA. 

The  ancient  Terror  of  Eternity  — 

The  dark  destroyer,  crouching  in  Life's  sea 

To  wreck  us  —  is  thus  Beaconed,  and  doth  stand 

As  the  Deliverer,  with  a  lamp  in  hand. 

We  would  not  put  them  from  us  when  we  are  sad ; 

We  will  not  shut  them  from  us  when  we  are  glad  ; 

Nor  thrust  our  Angel  from  the  Marriage  Feast, 

Although  he  comes,  not  clothed  like  the  rest 

In  visible  garment  of  a  Wedding-Guest. 

Now  pray  we. 

Lord  of  Life,  look  smiling  down 
Upon  this  Pair ;  with  choicest  blessings  crown 
Their  love ;  the  beauty  of  the  Flower  bring 
Back  to  the  bud  again  in  some  new  spring ! 
Long  may  they  walk  the  blessed  life  together 
With  wedded  hearts  that  still  make  golden  weather, 
And  keep  the  chill  of  winter  far  aloof 
With  inward  warmth  when  snow  is  on  the  roof  j 
Wed  in  that  sweet  forever  of  Love's  kiss, 
Like  two  rich  notes  made  one  in  bridal  bliss. 

We  would  not  pray  that  sorrow  ne'er  may  shed 
Her  dews  along  the  pathway  they  must  tread : 
The  sweetest  flowers  would  never  bloom  at  all 
If  no  least  rain  of  tears  did  ever  fall. 
In  joy  the  soul  is  bearing  human  fruit ; 
In.  grief  it  may  be  taking  divine  root. 


VIA   CBUCIS  VIA  LUCIS.  177 

Come  joy  or  grief,  nestle  them  near  to  Thee 

In  happy  love  twin  for  eternity  ! 

They  take  our  Darling's  place ;  long  may  they  be 

As  glad  and  beautiful  a  hope  as  he 

Hath  left  a  bright  and  blessed  memory 

Their  day  fulfil  the  promise  of  his  dawn  — 

That,  as  with  Thee,  he  may  with  us  live  on. 


AN   ORPHAN  FAMILY'S   CHRISTMAS. 


I. 

BLITHE  old  Carle  is  Christmas  ; 

You  cannot  find  his  fellow  ; 
Match  me  the  hale  red  rose  in  his  cheek, 

Or  the  heart  so  mild  and  mellow ; 
The  glitter  of  glory  in  his  eyes, 

While  the  Wassail-cup  he  quaffs, 
Or  the  humor  that  twinkles  about  his  wrinkles 
As  helplessly  he  laughs. 

Of  all  High-Tides  't  is  Christmas 

Most  richly  crowns  the  year ; 
Right  through  the  land  there  ripples  and  runs 

Its  flood  of  merry  good  cheer. 
Troops  of  friends  come  sailing  down, 

Making  a  pleasant  din ; 
Fling  open  doors  !  set  wide  your  hearts  ! 

Christmas  is  coming  in. 

A  happy  time  is  Christmas, 
We  gather  all  at  home, 


AN  ORPHAN FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS.   179 

And  like  the  Christmas  fairies, 

With  their  pranks,  our  darlings  come; 

And  gentle  Sylvan  Spirits  hid 
In  holly-boughs  they  bring, 

To  grow  into  good  Angels, 
And  bless  our  fairy-ring  ! 

A  jolly  time  is  Christmas, 

For  Plenty's  horn  is  poured ; 
Then  flows  the  honey  of  the  Sun, 

Our  fruits  all  summer  hoard ! 
Merry  men  tall  march  up  the  hall : 

They  bear  the  meats  and  drinks ; 
And  Wine,  with  all  his  hundred  eyes, 

Your  hearty  welcome  winks. 

A  glorious  time  is  Christmas ; 

Young  hearts  will  slip  the  tether ; 
Lips  moist  and  merry,  all  under  the  berry, 

Close  thrillingly  together. 
A  gracious  time !  the  poorest  Poor 

Will  make  some  little  show, 
As  ailing  infants,  seeing  the  fun, 

Will  do  their  best  to  crow  ! 

And  O  the  Fire  of  Christmas, 

That  like  some  Norse  God  old, 
Mounts  his  log  up-chimney,  and  roars 

Defiance  to  the  cold ! 


i8o  AN  ORPHAN  FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS. 

He  challenges  all  out-of-doors ; 

He  wags  his  beard  of  flame ; 
It  warms  your  very  heart  to  see 

Him  glory  in  the  game. 

A  hallowed  time  is  Christmas, 

Of  loftiest  festival ; 
For,  eighteen  hundred  years  ago, 

It  opened  Heaven  to  all. 
'T  was  then  our  Father,  in  his  arms, 

The  Blessed  Babe  held  forth 
To  win  back  wandering  human  love, 

And  lure  it  up  from  Earth. 

II. 

BUT  there  are  nooks  in  Poverty's  dim  world, 
Where  the  high  tide  of  richness  never  runs. 
No  drop  of  all  its  wealth  for  some  who  sit 
And  hear  the  river  of  bounty  brimming  by. 
They  see  the  Christmas  shows  of  wealth  and  warmth, 
At  window,  whilst  at  every  door  shut  out ! 
The  Plenty  only  flouts  their  poverty ; 
The  music  mocks  them  with  its  merriment ; 
They  look  into  each  passing  face  and  find 
No  likeness  of  their  own  deep  misery. 

In  one  of  these  dark  nooks,  at  Christmas  time, 
An  Orphan  family,  with  little  fire, 


AN  ORPHAN FAM1LTS  CHRISTMAS.   181 

And  only  light  enough  to  see  the  gloom, 

Together  sat ;  two  Sisters,  and  one  Brother ; 

The  youngest  six  years  old ;  the  eldest  twelve  ; 

An  old  Grandfather  lying  ill  abed. 

They  knew  that  Christmas  came,  but  not  for  them. 

Thus  had  they  often  sat  o'  winter  nights, 

Shivering  within,  as  the  dark  shuddered  without, 

And  creeping  close  together  for  heart-warmth  ; 

Poor  unfledged  nurslings  with  the  Mother  gone  ! 

Knowing  a  Presence  brooded  over  them, 

In   whose   chill   shadow   they   were   palled    and 

hooded ; 

So  mournfully  it  kept  the  Mother's  place ! 
Till  flesh  would  creep  as  though  about  to  leave 
The  spirit  naked  —  bare  to  that  cold  breath 
Which  whispers  of  the  grave  —  all  lidless  eye 
To  that  appalling  sight  the  helpless  Dead 
Lie  looking  on,  in  their  amazement,  dumb, 
And  petrified  to  marble !     So  they  sat ; 
The  Shadow  in  the  house  and  on  the  heart ; 
The  old  Clock  ticking  through  the  lonely  room, 
With  sounds  that  made  the  silence  solemner, 
And  weird  hands  pointing  to  far  other  times ; 
Talking  of  merry  Christmas  coming  in  ; 
Of  visionary  futures,  and  old  days, 
With  thoughts  so  far  beyond  their  years !     The  life 
In  their  young  eyes  gleamed  supematurally, 
Betwixt  the  fire-shine,  and  the  night-shadow, 


i82  AN  ORPHAN  FAMILY'S  CHRISTMAS. 

As  their  old  inmates  of  the  heart  stole  forth 
To  walk  and  talk  in  the  old  ways  once  more. 
And  so,  like  those  lorn  pretty  Babes  i'  the  Wood, 
That  Robins  buried  when  the  talk  was  done, 
They  told  each  other  stories  ;  sang  their  Hymns  : 
By  way  of  bribing -the  grim  Solitude, 
Not  to  look  down  upon  them  quite  so  dreadful ! 
Poor  darlings,  with  no  Father,  and  no  Mother. 


ni. 

AT,  me,  dear  Sister,  gentle  Brother, 
How  soft  the  thought  of  a  Mother  lies 
At  heart ;  how  sweet  in  sound  't  will  rise  ; 

And  these  poor  Children  had  no  Mother ! 

No  Mother-arms,  in  secret  nook 
To  fold  the  sufferer  to  her  breast. 
With  love  that  never  breaks  its  rest, 

And  Heartsease  in  her  very  look. 

No  Mother-wings  to  brood  above 

The  winter  nest  and  keep  them  warm  ; 
And  shield  them  from  the  pitiless  storm, 

With  the  large  shelter  of  her  love. 


AN  ORPHAN  FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS.   183 

No  Mother's  tender  touch  that  brings 
A  music  from  the  harp  of  life, 
Like  hovering  heaven  above  the  strife 

And  precious  tremblings  of  the  strings. 

No  Mother  with  her  lap  of  love 

Each  night  for  heads  that  bow  in  prayer ; 

Dear  hands  that  stroke  the  smiling  hair, 
And  heart  that  pleads  their  cause  above. 

No  Mother  whose  quick,  wistful  eye, 
Will  see  the  shadow  of  Danger  near, 
And  face,  with  love  that  casts  out  fear, 

The  blow  that  darkly  hurtles  by. 

No  Mother's  smile  ineffable, 

To  stir  the  Angel  in  the  bud, 

Till,  into  perfect  womanhood, 
The  Flower  blushes  at  the  full. 

No  Mother  !  when  the  Darling  One 

Bends  with  a  grief  that  breaks  the  flower, 
To  loose  the  sorrow  in  a  shower, 

And  lift  the  sweet  face  to  the  sun. 

No  Mother's  kiss  of  comfort  near 
The  River  that  Death  overshades  ; 
Or  voice  that,  when  the  dim  face  fades, 

Sounds  on  with  solemn  words  of  cheer. 


184  AN  ORPHAN FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS. 

Ay,  me,  dear  Sister,  gentle  Brother, 
How  soft  the  thought  of  a  Mother  lies 
At  heart  j  how  sweet  in  sound  't  will  rise  ; 

And  these  poor  Children  had  no  Mother. 


IV. 

YET,  God  is  kind,  and  wondrous  are  His  ways. 
Affliction's  hand,  it  seemed,  had,  at  a  touch, 
Awoke  the  Mother  in  the  young  Child-heart 
Of  little  Martha,  wh/)  had  now  become 
A  wee  old  woman  at  twelve  years  of  age, 
With  many  motherly  ways.     Yea,  God  is  kind. 

The  tiny  Snowdrop  braves  the  wintry  blast ; 
He  tenderly  protects  its  confidence 
That  lifts  the  venturous  head,  safe  in  His  hand 
And  Martha,  in  her  loneliness  of  earth, 
And  such  a  dearth  of  human  fellowship, 
And  such  companionship  with  solitude, 
Had  found  a  way  of  looking  up  to  Heaven  : 
And  oft  I  think  that  God  in  heaven  smiled  : 
Holding  his  hand  about  her  little  life, 
As  one  that  shields  a  candle  from  the  wind. 
She  had  the  faith  to  feel  him  nearest,  when 
The  world  is  farthest  off;  and,  in  this  faith, 
Her  spirit  went  on  wings,  or,  hand-in-hand 


AN  ORPHAN  FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS.   185 

With  Love  that  digs  below  the  deepest  grave, 
And  Hope  that  builds  above  the  highest  stars. 

In  the  old  days  before  their  sorrow  came, 
And  vast  Eternity  oped  twice  to  them, 
And  each  time,  following  the  lightning-flash, 
They  groped  in  darkness  for  a  Parent  gone, 
She  was  the  merriest  of  merry  souls ; 
The  gay  heart  laughing  in  her  loving  eyes ; 
The  peeping  rose-bud  crimsoning  her  cheek ; 
There  was  as  quick  a  spirit  in  her  feet, 
As  now  had  passed  into  her  toiling  fingers, 
That  match  the  Mother's  heart  with  Father's  hands 
In  their  unwearied  working  for  the  rest. 
In  those  old  days  the  Father  made  a  song 
About  his  little  maid,  and  sang  it  to  her. 


V. 

"  It  is  a  merry  Maiden, 
With  spirits  light  as  air ; 

While  others  go  heart-laden, 
And  make  the  most  of  care, 

She  trips  along  with  laughter : 

Old  Care  may  hobble  after. 

"  A  sunbeam  straight  from  heaven, 
She  dances  in  my  room ; 


186  AN  ORPHAN FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS. 

The  gladdest  thing  e'er  given 
To  cheer  a  heart  or  home, 
My  stream  of  life  may  darkle , 
She  makes  the  brighter  sparkle. 

"  Her  smile  is  like  the  Morning 
That  turns  the  mist  to  pearls ; 

All  iltought  of  sadness  scorning, 
She  shakes  her  sunny  curls ; 

And,  with  her  merry  glancing, 

She  sets  all  hearts  a-dancing." 


VI.  . 

BUT  now  the  Maid  was  changed ;  she  had  been 
With  Sorrow  in  its  chilly  sanctuary  ; 
Her  look  was  paler,  for  it  had  been  toucht 
With  that  white  stillness  of  the  winding-sheet, 
That  smile  forlornly  sweet  upon  the  face 
When  left  forever  widowed  of  the  soul ! 
Henceforth  her  life  went  softly  all  its  days 
As  if  she  felt  the  Grave-turf  underfoot. 
Her  beauty  was  more  spiritual ;  not  aged 
Or  worn  ;  less  color,  but  more  light. 
It  was  a  brier-rose  beauty,  tremulous 
With  tenderest  dew-drop  purity  of  soul. 


AN  ORPHAN FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS.   187 

I  've  often  seen  how  well  their  beauty  wears 
Whose  sufferings  are  for  others,  not  for  Self; 
How  long  they  keep  a  fair  unfurrowed  face, 
Whose  tears  are  luminous  with  healing  love, 
Like  pearly  cars  that  bring  good  spirits  down 
To  water  and  enrich  their  special  flowers, 
And  do  not  come  from  cares  that  kill  the  heart ; 
They  sere  no  bloom ;  they  leave  no  snaky  trail. 
So  Martha  kept  her  face,  and  might  have  been 
The  younger  sister  of  that  lily  Maid, 
The  lovable  Elaine  of  Astolat. 


VII. 

WE  write  the  tale  of  Heroes  in  the  blood 

They  shed  when  dying  where  they  nobly  stood ; 

And  the  red  letters  gloriously  bloom 

To  light  the  warrior  to  a  loftier  doom. 

But  there  are  battles  where  no  cheers  arise, 

And  no  flags  wave  before  the  fading  eyes ; 

Heroes  of  whom  the  wide  world  never  hears ; 

Their  story  only  writ  in  Woman's  tears. 

Yet  that  invisible  ink  shall  surely  shine 

Brightest  in  Heaven,  and  verily  divine. 

And  when  God  closes  our  world's  blotted  book, 

To  cast  it  in  the  fire  with  awful  look, 

It  was  so  badly  written,  leaf  on  leaf 

Thus  lived  might  touch  the  Father's  heart  with  grief. 


188  AN  ORPHAN  FAMILY  S  CHRISTMAS. 

And  this  Child-Mother's  life  may  yield  one  stoiy 
That  shall  be  told  among  the  first  in  glory. 

Her  busy  love  and  thoughtful  care  are  such, 
The  others  do  not  miss  the  Mother  much. 
From  dawn  to  dark  her  presence  lights  the  place 
With  many  a  gleam  of  reliquary  grace. 
Their  few  poor  things  in  seemly  order  stand, 
Bright  as  with  last  touch  of  the  Parent's  hand. 
The  clothes  are  mended,  and  the  house  is  kept 
Clean  as  of  old ;  bravely  hath  Martha  stepped 
In  Mother's  footprints ;  her  wee  feet  have  tried 
Their  best  to  track  the  Parent's  larger  stride. 
With  household  work  her  little  hands  are  hard, 
Her  arms  are  chilled,  her  knees  with  kneeling 

scarred  : 

Dusty  her  hair  that  might  have  richly  rolled 
With  warm  Venetian  glow  of  Titian's  gold. 
Great-hearted  little  woman  !  she  toils  still, 
Though  the  Grandfather,  lying  old  and  ill, 
To  her  twin  troubles  adds  a  heavier  third, 
She  works  on  without  one  complaining  word. 


VIII. 

AND  once  a  year  she  has  her  holiday ; 

One  day  of  airy  life  in  fairyland. 

When  young  leaves  open  large  their  palms  to  catch 


AN  ORPHAN  FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS.   189 

The  gold  and  silver  of  the  sun  and  shower ; 
Shy  Beauty  pusheth  back  her  glittering  hood, 
To  peep  with  her  flower  face ;  the  Silver  Birk 
Shakes  out  her  hair  full-length  against  the  blue ; 
The  Fir  puts  forth  her  timid  finger-tips, 
Like  shrinking  damsel  trying  a  cold  stream 
In  which  she  comes  to  bathe. 

In  merry  green  woods 
She  rambles  where  the  blue  wild  hyacinths 
Smile  with  their  soft  dream-haze  in  tender  shade  : 
Above,  the  lightsome  dance  of  gladsome  green ; 
Below,  the  whispering  sweetness  of  the  wood ; 
Birds  singing,  as  for  love  of  her,  all  round : 
Or,  by  the  Brook  that  turns  some  stray  sunbeam 
To  a  crooked  scimitar  of  wavy  gold, 
Then  to  itself  laughs  at  the  elfish  work  ! 
With  her  large  eyes,  and  eager  leaping  looks, 
At  Nature's  living  picture-page  she  glowers, 
And  gets  some  color  in  her  own  pale  life. 
Then  home,  with  kindled  cheek,  when  Eve's  one 

Star 

Stands,  waiting  on  the  threshold  of  the  night, 
In  li vely  expectation  of  all  heaven. 

IX. 

HOME  when  the  happy  day  is  done, 
Home  comes  my  little  Maid ; 


I9o  AN  ORPHAN  FAMILY  S  CHRISTMAS. 

Her  pleasure  —  golden  in  the  sun  — 

Now  dewy  in  the  shade. 
Thoughts  of  the  day  will  hover  and  bless 
Her  sleep  with  sacred  balminess. 

Through  shutting  eve  the  stars  all  peep, 
But  still  there  comes  no  night ; 

*T  is  but  the  Day  hath  fallen  asleep 
And  smiles  in  dreams  of  light. 

And  Martha  feels  the  heart  of  Love 

Beat  on  in  silent  stars  above. 


TO-NIGHT  they  sit  with  sadder,  lonelier  thoughts 
Than  ever ;  closer  comes  the  Wolf  of  Want, 
And  darklier  falls  their  shadow  of  Orphanhood. 
For  now  the  old  man  keeps  his  bed,  and  seems 
Death-stricken,  with  his  face  of  ghastly  gray ; 
His  life  all  crowded  in  cold  glittering  eyes 
Watching  the  least  light  movement  that  is  made. 
The  Boy,  a  blithe  and  sunny  godsend,  gay 
As  singing  fountain  springing  in  their  midst, 
With  loving  spirit  leaping  to  the  light, 
Is  down  at  heart  to-night,  and  sad  and  still. 
While  Dora,  in  whose  purple-lighted  eyes 
There  seems  the  shadow  of  a  rain-cloud  near, 


AN  ORPHAN  FAMILY  S  CHRISTMAS.   191 

With  but  a  faint  shine  of  the  cheery  heart ; 
She  longs  to  fly  away  and  be  at  rest, 
And  gives  her  wisTies  wings  in  measured  words 
That  win  strange  pathos  from  her   sweet  young 
voice. 

"  Come  to  Hie  Better  Land,  that  Angels  know ; 
They  walk  in  glory,  shining  as  they  go  ! 
The  King  in  all  His  beauty  takes  the  least 
To  sit  beside  Him  at  the  eternal  feast." 
Thus  sings  the  voice  that  calls  me  night  and  day. 
"  This  is  a  weary  world, 

Come,  come,  come  away  I 
Ah,  't  is  a  dreary  world, 
Come,  come  away." 

"  From  old  heartache,  and  weariness,  and  pain  — 
Sorrows  that  sigh,  and  hopes  that  soar  in  vain  — 
Come  to  the  Loved  and  Lost  who  are  now  the  Blest  ; 
They  dwell  in  regions  of  Eternal  rest." 
Thus  sings  the  voice  that  calls  me  night  and  day. 
"  This  is  a  weary  world, 

Come,  come,  come  away  t 
Ah,  'tis  a  dreary  world, 
Come,  come  away." 

"  Here  all  things  change ;    the  warmest  hearts  grow 

cold ; 
The  young  head  droops  and  dims  its  glorious  gold ; 


192  AN  ORPHAN FAMILT 8  CHRISTMAS. 

Where  Love  his  pillow  hath  made  on  Beauty's  breast, 
The  creatures  of  the  Grave  will  make  their  nest." 
Thus  sings  the  voice  that  calls  me  night  and  day. 
"  This  is  a  weary  world, 

Come,  came,  come  away  I 
Ah,  'tis  a  dreary  world, 
Come,  come  away." 

"  The  dear  eyes  where  each  morning  rose  our  light, 
Soon  darken  with  their  last  eternal  night ; 
The  heart  that  beat  for  us,  the  hallowed  brow 
That  bowed  to  bless,  are  cold  and  silent  now." 
Thus  sings  the  voice  that  calls  me  night  and  day. 
"  This  is  a  weary  world, 

Come,  come,  come  away  I 
Ah,  't  is  a  dreary  world, 
Come,  come  away." 

"  Nor  fear  the  Grave,  that  door  of  Heaven  on  Earth ; 
All  changed  and  beautiful  ye  shall  come  forth, 
As  from  the  cold  dark  cloud  the  winter  showers 
Go  underground  to  dress,  and  come  forth  Flowers." 
Thus  sings  the  voice  that  calls  me  night  and  day. 
"  This  is  a  weary  world, 

Come,  come,  come  away  ! 
Ah,  't  is  a  dreary  world, 
Come,  come  away." 


AN  ORPHAN  FAMILY'S  CHRISTMAS.   193 

"  Come  to  the  Better  Land,  that  Angels  know ; 
They  walk  in  glory,  shining  as  they  go  I 
The  King  in  all  His  beauty  takes  the  least 
To  sit  beside  Him  at  the  eternal  feast." 
Thus  sings  the  voice  that  calls  me  night  and  day. 
"  This  is  a  weary  world, 

Come,  come,  come  away  ! 
Ah,  't  is  a  dreary  world, 
Come,  come  away." 


XL 

"  NAY,  Sister,"  says  the  cheery  Martha,  "  though 
Our  lot  be  sad,  your  strain  's  too  sorrowful ! 
We  cannot  spare  you  yet.     Nor  must  we  stoop 
To  make  our  Burden  heavier ;  hear  me,  love. 

"  A  little  flower  so  lowly  grew, 

So  lonely  was  it  left, 
That  Heaven  lookt  like  an  eye  of  blue 

Down  in  its  roclcy  cleft. 

"  What  could  the  little  Flower  do 

In  such  a  darksome  place, 
But  try  to  reach  that  eye  of  blue, 

And  climb  to  kiss  Heaven's  face? 
13 


194  AN  ORPHAN  FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS. 

"  And  there  's  no  life  so  lone  and  low 
But  strength  may  still  be  given 

From  narrowest  lot  on  earth  to  grow 
The  straighter  up  to  Heaven." 

Again  she  sang,  and  set  them  singing  too. 

"  When  He  was  with  us,  our  Saviour  said, 
Suffer  the  Children  to  come  unto  me : 

Still  I  see  Him,  with  arms  outspread, 
Waiting  to  gather  us  round  his  knee. 

And  though  there 's  room  for  all  the  rest, 

I  think  He  loves  the  Little  Ones  best. 

"  Here  we  are  poorest  of  God's  Poor, 
Toiling  for  bread  from  day  to  day, 

But  laid  up  in  Heaven  a  treasure  is  sure, 
While  Money  is  round  and  rolls  away. 

And  though  there  's  room  for  all  the  rest, 

I  think  He  loves  the  Little  Ones  best. 

"  Little  hearts  make  merry,  and  sing 
How  his  love  to  Children  warms  ! 

Little  voices  ripple  and  ring  — 
How  he  takes  them  in  his  arms  ! 

And  though  there  's  room  for  all  the  rest, 

I  think  He  loves  the  Little  Ones  best." 


A%  ORPHAN  FAMILY S  CHRISTMAS.   195 

XII. 

Then,  silent  Leonard  lifted  up  his  look, 

Bright  as  a  Daisy  when  the  dews  have  dried ; 

A  sudden  thought  struck  all  the  sun  in  his  face. 

"  Martha  and  Dora,  I  know  what  I  'II  do  ! 

I  'II  write  a  Letter  to  our  Saviour ;  He 

Will  help  us  if  we  put  our  trust  in  Him." 

The  sisters  smiled  upon  him  through  their  tears. 

This  was  the  Letter  little  Leonard  wrote. 

"  Dear,  beautiful  Lord  Jesus, 

Christmas  is  drawing  near ; 
Its  many  shining  sights  we  see, 

Its  merry  sounds  we  hear, 
With  presents  for  good  Children, 

I  know  Thou  art  going  now, 
From  house  to  house  with  Christmas  trees, 

And  lights  on  every  bough. 

"  I  pray  thee,  holy  Jesus, 

To  bring  one  tree  to  us, 
All  aglow  with  fruits  of  gold, 

And  leaves  all  luminous. 
We  have  no  Mother,  and,  where  we  live, 

No  Christmas  gifts  are  given  ; 


ig6  AN  ORPHAN  FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS. 

We  have  no  Friends  on  earth,  but  thou 
Art  our  good  friend  in  Heaven. 

"  My  Sisters,  gentle  Jesus, 

They  hide  the  worst  from  me; 
But  I  have  ears  that  sometimes  hear, 

And  eyes  that  often  see. 
Poor  Martha's  cloak  is  worn  threadbare, 

Poor  Dora's  boots  are  old  ; 
And  neither  of  them  strong  like  me, 

To  stand  the  wintry  cold. 

"  But  most  of  all,  Lord  Jesus, 

Grandfather  is  so  ill ; 
'T  is  very  sad  to  hear  him  moan, 

And  startling  when  he  's  still, 
Ah  !  well  I  know,  Lord  Jesus, 

If  thou  wouldst  only  come, 
He  'd  look,  and  rise,  and  leave  his  bed, 

As  Lazarus  left  his  tomb. 

"  Forget  us  not,  Lord  Jesus, 

I  and  my  sisters  dear  ; 
We  love  thee  !  when  thou  wert  a  Child, 

Had  we  been  only  near, 
And  seen  thee  lying,  bonny  babe, 

In  manger  or  in  stall, 
Thou  shouldst  have  had  our  Home,  our  bed ; 

We  would  have  given  thee  all." 


AN  ORPHAN  FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS.    197 


XIII. 

THE  Letter  signed  and  sealed,  their  prayers  are  said, 
And  Martha  lights  the  younger  Bairns  to  bed. 
With  all  a  Mother's  heart  she  bends  above 
Their  rest,  her  eyes  filled  with  a  Mother's  love. 
For  soon  their  voices  cease ;  life  fades  away 
Into  its  quiet  nest,  till  morrow-day : 
As  the  lake-lilies  shut  their  leaves  of  light 
When  down  the  gloom  descends  the  hush  of  night. 
In  fear  of  what  is  passing,  bow  the  head 
Beneath  the  water,  they  shrink  down  in  bed ! 
But  soon  the  Angel  Sleep  doth  smile  all  fear 
Away  with  wooing  whispers  at  the  ear ; 
And  they  will  ope  at  morn  eyes  bathed  in  bliss ; 
Their  faces  fresh  from  the  good  Angel's  kiss. 
But  Martha  sleeps  not  yet ;  now  they  are  gone, 
Brave  little  woman,  she  must  still  work  on, 
And  watch,  to-night,  for  Grandfather  is  worse, 
She  thinks,  with  no  one  near,  save  her  for  nurse. 


XIV. 

'T  is  very  sad  to  hear  a  man  so  old, 

Talk  of  his  mother  who,  beneath  the  mould, 

Has  lain  an  age,  and  see  him  weep  young  tears, 


198  AN  ORPHAN FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS. 

That  have  to  pierce  the  crust  of  seventy  years. 

He  turns  and  turns,  incapable  of  rest, 

Tossed  on  the  billow  that  heaves  in  brain  and  breast ; 

A  life  that  beats  with  all  too  weak  a  wave 

To  land  him  on  the  other  side  the  Grave  ! 

The  old  man  mutters  in  his  broken  dream. 

"  Last  night  I  wandered  in  a  world  of  moan ; 

I  saw  a  white  Soul  going  all  alone, 
Over  the  white  snows  of  eternity ; 
I  followed  far,  and  followed  fast  to  see 

The  face,  and  lo,  it  was  my  own." 

And  now  he  muses  by  some  weird  sea-side. 

"  The  tide  is  a-making  its  bonny  Death-bed  ; 
The  white  sea-maidens  rise  ready  to  wed ; 
Nearer  and  nearer,  unveiling  their  charms, 
They  toss  for  their  lovers,  long,  shadowy  arms! 
Dancing  with  other-world  music  and  motion ; 
Brides  of  dead  Sailors ;  the  Beauties  of  Ocean. 

"  Wave  after  wave  my  worn,  old  Bark  Jias  tossed ; 

One  moment  saved,  another  it  seemed  lost 

Forever,  still  it  righted  from  each  blow  ; 

But  the  great  wave  is  coming  on  me  now  I 

I  see  it  towering  high  above  the  rest ; 

A  world  of  eyes  in  its  white  glittering  crest  ; 

See  how  it  climbs,  calm  in  its  might,  and  curls 


AN  ORPHAN  FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS.   199 

Ready  to  clasp  me  in  the  wildering  whirls. 
And  when  it  bursts,  in  darkness,  for  last  breath, 
I  shall  be  fighting,  grappled  fast  with  Death." 

He  sees  an  Image  of  Martha  now,  with  dim 
Wet  eyes ;  it  moves  in  brightness  far  from  him. 

"  /  am  like  the  hoary  Mountain, 

Gray  with  years,  and  very  old  ; 
And  your  life,  a  sprightly  fountain, 
Springs,  and  leaves  me  lone  and  cold ; 
Dancing,  glancing  on  its  way, 
Down  the  valleys  warm  and  gay. 

"  There  you  go,  Dear,  singing,  sparkling, 

I  can  see  your  dawn  begin  ; 
While  the  night,  around  me  darkling, 
With  its  death-dews,  shuts  me  in  — 
Sear  you  singing  on  your  way 
To  the  full  and  perfect  day." 

The  suffering  passes  into  weariness  ; 
The  weariness  fades  into  kind  content ; 
Faintly  the  tired  heart  flutters  into  stillness, 
And  he  has  done  with  Age,  and  Want,  and  Illness. 

Gently  he  passed ;  the  little  Maiden  wept ; 
Sank  down  o'erwearied  by  the  dead,  and  slept, 


200  AN  ORPHAN  FAMILY'S  CHRISTMAS. 

With  such  a  heavenly  lustre  in  her  face, 
You  might  have  fancied  Angels  in  the  place  : 
Companions  through  the  day  of  our  delight, 
That  watch  as  winged  Sentries  all  the  night. 


XV. 

NEXT  day  a  group  of  serious  silent  men 
Found  a  Dead  Letter  with  strange  life  in  it ; 
It  was  addressed  to  Jesus  Christ  in  Heaven. 
It  called  up  their  old  hearts  into  their  eyes, 
For  lofty  meeting  in  a  touch  of  tears. 
At  length  it  reached  the  Lady  Marian. 
And  the  Boy's  letter  had  not  missed  its  mark. 

The  child  had  called  on  Christ,  and  lo,  He  came 

In  spirit  loving,  helpful,  as  of  old  ! 

In  person  of  the  Lady  Marian  ; 

One  of  those  representatives  of  His 

Who  help  to  make  the  Poor  believe  in  Him : 

Believe  Him  once  a  dweller  on  our  earth 

Because  He  hath  some  living  likeness  yet. 

XVI. 

THIS  is  my  Lady  Marian  . 

She  walks  our  world,  a  Shining  one  ! 


AN  ORPHAN  FAMILY'S  CHRISTMAS.  201 

A  Woman  with  an  Angel-face, 
Sweet  gravity,  and  tender  grace  ; 
And  where  she  treads  this  earth  of  ours, 
Heaven  blossoms  into  smiling  flowers. 
This  is  the  Lady  Marian. 

One  of  the  spirits  that  walk  in  white  ! 
Many  dumb  hearts  that  sit  in  night, 
Her  presence  know,  just  as  the  Birds 
Know  Morning,  murmuring  cheerful  words. 
Where  Life  is  darkest,  she  doth  move 
With  influence  as  of  visible  Love. 
This  is  the  Lady  Marian. 

Her  coming  all  your  being  fills 
With  a  balm-breath  from  heaven's  hills  : 
And  in  her  face  the  light  is  mild 
As  though  the  heart  within  her  smiled, 
And  in  her  bosom  sat  to  sing 
The  spirit  of  immortal  Spring. 
This  is  the  Lady  Marian. 

One  of  God's  treasurers  for  the  Poor ! 
She  keepeth  open  heart  and  door. 
That  heart  a  holy  well  of  wealth, 
Brimming  life-waters,  quick  with  health ; 
That  door  an  opening  you  look  through, 
To  find  Qod  our  side  of  Heaven's  blue. 
This  is  the  Lady  Marian. 


202  AN  ORPHAN FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS. 

"  We  shall  not  mend  the  world ;  we  try, 
And  lo,  our  work  is  vain  I "  they  cry. 
With  her  pathetic  look,  she  hears ; 
You  see  the  wounded  soul  bleed  tears  ; 
But  toward  the  dark  she  sets  her  face, 
And  calmly  keeps  her  onward  pace. 
This  is  the  Lady  Marian. 

True  picture  of  the  Master  of  old  ! 
Touches  of  likeness  manifold  ! 
The  human  sweetness  in  His  face ; 
Large  love  that  would  a  world  embrace ; 
His  heavenly  pity  in  her  eyes, 
And  all  the  soul  of  sacrifice. 

This  is  the  Lady  Marian. 


xvn. 

FROM  out  the  blackness  that  took  shape  in  Her, 

Came  Lady  Marian  on  Christmas  Eve, 

Quick  with  maternal  tenderness  of  soul, 

Her  starry  smile  so  radiant  through  their  night, 

Her  hands  brimful  of  help,  as  was  her  heart 

With  yeanlings  to  arise  and  go  when  first 

She  read  the  letter  little  Leonard  sent 

In  his  confiding  simpleness  of  faith. 

And  Martha  knows  that  their  worst  days  are  done ; 


AN  ORPHAN FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS.  203 

In  Dora's  rich  sad  eyes  a  merry  light 

Soon  dances  !     Lady  Marian  will  be 

A  Mother,  sent  of  God,  to  all  the  three. 

A  trembling  prayer  had  shook  the  Tree  of  Life, 

And,  golden,  out  of  heaven  the  fruitage  falls 

Into  the  children's  lap  direct  from  God. 


XVIII. 

THE  Master  called  a  little  Child, 

And  placed  it  in  their  midst,  to  show 
The  clearest  mirror  men  could  know, 

In  which  the  face  of  Faith  e'er  smiled  : 

A  little  Child,  with  eye  unworn, 

Whose  heart  goes  straightway  for  the  light, 
Like  buds  that  put  forth  all  their  might 

To  start  up  heavenward  soon  as  born  : 

A  little  Child,  that  even  in  play 
The  nearest  path  to  heaven  walks  ; 
And  in  its  innocent  brightness  talks 

With  God  in  the  old  wondrous  way  : 

Friends  of  a  failing  faith,  when  your 

Lighthouses  of  eternal  life 

Hold  trembling  lamps  across  the  strife, 
And  darken,  darken  hour  by  hour  : 


204  AN  ORPHAN  FAMILY S  CHRISTMAS. 

While  higher  climb  the  waves  that  drench  : 
And  on  the  rocks  the  breakers  roar  : 
And  Light  in  Heaven  opes  no  new  door, 

And  higher  climb  the  waves  that  quench  : 

When  timid  souls  that  sail  the  sea 
Of  Time  are  fearful  lest  yon  band 
Of  Cloud  should  not  be  solid  Land, 

When  they  step  in  Eternity,  — 

And  faint  hearts  flutter  'twixt  a  nest 
That  is  not  sealed  to  wind  and  wet, 
And  one  that  is  not  ready  yet, 

With  wandering  wings,  and  find  no  rest : 

Our  Heaven-sealers  in  the  dust 

Sit,  with  their  hopes  dead  or  discrowned  ; 

Their  splendid  dreams  all  shivered  round 
And  broken  every  reed  of  trust : 

The  Sheep  are  scattered,  sore  distressed  ; 

Their  Shepherd  miss  with  many  alarms  ; 

While  the  young  Lambs  can  feel  His  arras 
Enfold  them  safely  to  His  breast : 

I  '11  sit  me  down,  no  more  beguiled 
By  those  who  are  too  serpent-wise, 
And  seek  my  Saviour  through  the  eyes 

And  pure  heart  of  a  little  Child. 


^V  OllPHAN FAMILTS  CHRISTMAS.  205 

Christ,  give  me  but  this  little  one's  grace, 
With  faith  to  feel  in  darkest  night, 
How  the  good  Father's  heart  of  light 

With  that  mild  radiance  fills  Thy  face. 


LADY   MARIAN. 


N  her  Ancestral  tree's  old  smiling  shade, 
Spencer  and  Milton  sang,  and  Shake- 
speare played. 

I  cannot  prophesy  immortal  fame, 
And  endless  honor  for  my  lady's  name 
Through  my  poor  Verse ;  but  it  shall  surely  give 
All  that  it  has,  and  long  as  it  may  live. 

She  heard  my  children  singing  in  the  street, 

And  smiled  down  on  them  starry-clear  and  sweet, 

But  half-way  up  in  Heaven,  and  far  from  me, 

As  Shakespeare's  Juliet  in  her  balcony ; 

A  golden  Creature,  all  too  rare  to  stay, 

With  waving  white  hand  she  would  pass  away ! 

Now  I  have  seen  her ;  heard  her  voice  To-day, 
And  toucht  her  hand ;  enricht  my  life  for  aye  : 
The  thought  in  sunbeams  radiantly  upsprings, 
To  smile  out  in  the  saddest  face  of  things. 


LADY  MARIAN.  207 

After  the  gloom  is  gone,  the  worst  is  passed, 
I  know  you,  my  good  Fairy,  found  at  last. 

Though  poor,  and  grim  to  tears,  our  life  might  be, 

We  had  proud  visions  in  our  poverty ! 

My  Princess  too,  with  darkly  sparkling  e'en, 

As  I  lay  dreaming,  over  me  would  lean ; 

And  now  the  silken  clew  of  hidden  power, 

Hath  led  me  to  her  beauty  in  its  bower. 

Lady !  Giorgione  should  have  painted  you 

With  live  warm  flesh-tints  golden  through  and 

through ; 

The  sun-soul  making  luminous  its  prison 
With  sunken  splendors,  rarer  than  have  risen ; 
Bird-peeps    of    brightness  —  dawn-dew  —  smiling 

fire  — 
Full  of  all  freshness  as  a  spring-wood  quire ; 

A  glow  and  glory  of  impetuous  blood ; 

Brave  spirits  that  crowd  all  sail  to  take  the  flood 

Of  large,  abounding  life,  that  in  the  sun 

Heaves  flashing,  with  a  frolic  fringe  of  fun ; 

A  happy  wit ;  creative  genius,  proved 

In  Pictures  that  Angelico  would  have  loved  : 

A  stately  soul :  yet  with  a  laugh  that  brings 
Echoes  from  Girlhood's  heaven  as  it  rings  ! 


2o8  LADT  MARIAN. 

And  that  fine  spirit  of  motion's  airy  charm, 
Which  hovers  glancing  round  the  flower  of  form : 
A  lofty  lady  of  a  proud  old  race, 
Recklessly  splendid  in  her  gifts  and  grace. 

Yet,  as  the  life  of  some  tall,  towery  tree 
Climbs  till  atop  it  laughs  exultingly 
With  all  its  leaves,  using  its  pride  of  place 
To  look  both  earth  and  heaven  full  in  the  face ! 
Thus  —  up  through  bole  and  branch  of  wealth  and 

blood, 
Breaks  out  her  noble  natural  Womanhood. 

No  fear  of  England's  great  old  Houses  when 
Such  glorious  women  give  us  noble  men, 
And  sway  the  heart  o'  the  people  sovereignly 
As  the  Moon  sways  the  hearings  of  the  sea, 
To  touch  its  darkness  with  her  lovelier  light, 
And  mould  to  loftier  shape  its  climbing  might. 

Their  foes  may  rave,  but,  far  off  is  their  fall, 
Whose  glory  is  the  heritage  of  all ! 
Who  grew  some  grain  we  long  shall  save  for  seed ; 
Who  man  the  gap  for  England  in  her  need. 
All  who  love  England  think  with  holy  pride 
Of  all  who  for  her  like  De  Norman  died. 

My  Lady  Marian,  you  are  good,  and  true ; 
Most  bountiful,  and  gracious  as  the  dew  : 


LADY  MARIAN.  209 

And  glad  Hearts  —  winged  with  Blessings  —  fol- 
low you 

Far  as  the  Earth  is  green,  or  Heaven  is  blue ; 
But,  dear  my  lady,  there  is  work  to  do 
In  England  yet,  and  royal  work  for  you. 

Why  leave  your  own  free  air,  and  English  Home, 
For  Paris  —  that  Slave-Dancer  —  or  for  Rome  ? 
With  all  their  lustres,  dazzlingly  displayed, 
They  cannot  match  the  sweetness  of  our  shade ; 
Our  leafier  pathways  cool  with  gladder  green  ; 
Our  Hearts,  whose  heavings    lift   you  up  —  our 
Queen. 

Much  Mother's  Milk  wants  sweetening  with  the 

Balms 
That  you  can  bring;  much  need  of  more  than 

Alms ! 

In  eyes  wide  open  souls  lie  fast  asleep  ; 
With  daylight  on  the  face  hearts  darkly  weep  ; 
Our  world  has  many  a  ward  where  wounds  and 

wails 
Cry  for  a  thousand  Florence  Nightingales. 

I  know  that  Knowledge  through  our  Shire  doth 

trail 

With  slow  illumination  of  a  snail ! 
But  still  we  dream  of  some  bright  better  day, 
14 


210  LADY  MARIAN. 

And  while  we  sleep  the  great  Dawn  comes  our 

way. 

Think  How  long  God's  love  brooded  over  Earth 
Before  she  quickened  for  her  noblest  Birth ! 

O,  they  shall  bless  yon  down  in  pit  and  den,  — 
Transforming  slowly  into  Women  and  Men  ; 
And  smile,  as  leaves  out-smile  in  first  spring-hours, 
With  livelier  green,  while  fall  the  singing  showers ; 
Or  as  the  winter  mosses  round  your  trees 
Look  up  and  smile  at  their  good  influences. 

Your  pardon,  Lady,  if  my  unskilled  word, 
Like  a  bad  player,  should  mistake  the  chord  ! 
No  churlish  charge,  no  plea  of  parasite, 
Is  mine ;  but  leal  heart-service  of  a  knight 
Who  in  old  days  had  fought  for  you  and  bled ; 
Going  to  death  as  't  were  a  bridal  bed. 

Our  lost  "  Maid  Marian  "  bore  your  name,  and  she 

Yet  works  a  very  tender  ministry ; 

And,  somehow,  when  of  her  we  sit  and  think 

Our  hearts  touch  you  by  an  invisible  link. 

Sacred  to  her,  my  sadder  verses  take  j 

And  kindly  think  of  them  for  Marian's  sake. 

Boom  for  my  Sea-Kings  too,  your  heart  will  make, 
From  young  Sir  William  Peel,  to  old  King  Hake. 


LADY  MARIAN.  211 

You  have  the  spirit  born  of  the  salt  spray 
That  snuffs  the  sea-breeze  meadowy  miles  away; 
The  Norse  blood  running  seaward  round  the  world, 
That  leaves  the  Celtic  round  the  Homestead  curled. 

You  love  our  Heroes  !  and  you  might  have  been 
In  battle-need  our  Boadicea  Queen  ! 
And  stood  up  to  the  full  majestic  height 
In  your  war-chariot  beckoning  on  the  fight : 
A  famous  victory  you  would  have  wrought, 
Or  with  your  heroes  fallen  as  you  fought. 


AN   OLD  MAN-O'-WAR'S-MAN  YARN. 


Y,  ay,  good  neighbors,  I  have  seen 

Him !  sure  as  God  's  my  life ; 
One  of  his  chosen  crew  I  've  been ; 

Have  n't  I,  old  good  wife  ? 
God  bless  your  dear  eyes !  did  n't  you  vow 

To  marry  me  any  weather, 

If  I  came  back  with  limbs  enow 

To  keep  my  soul  together. 

Brave  as  a  lion  was  our  Nel, 

And  gentle  as  a  lamb  : 
'Tell  you  it  warms  my  blood  to  tell 

The  tale  —  gray  as  I  am  — 
It  makes  the  old  life  in  me  climb, 

It  sets  my  soul  a-swim ; 
I  live  twice  over  every  time 

That  I  can  talk  of  him. 

You  should  have  seen  him  as  he  trod 
The  deck,  our  joy,  and  pride ! 


AN  OLD  MAN-0"  WARS-  MAN  YARN.  213 

You  should  have  seen  him,  like  a  god 

Of  storm,  his  war-horse  ride ! 
You  should  have  seen  him  as  he  stood 

Fighting  for  our  good  land, 
With  all  the  iron  of  soul  and  blood 

Turned  to  a  sword  in  hand. 

Our  best  beloved  of  all  the  brave 

That  ever  for  freedom  fought ; 
And  all  his  wonders  of  the  wave 

For  fatherland  were  wrought ! 
He  was  the  manner  of  man  to  show 

How  victories  may  be  won  ; 
So  swift,  you  scarcely  saw  the  blow ; 

You  lookt  —  the  deed  was  done. 

He  sailed  his  ships  for  work ;  he  bore 

His  sword  for  battle-wear ; 
His  creed  was  "  Best  man  to  the  fore!  " 

And  he  was  always  there. 
Up  any  peak  of  peril  where 

There  was  but  room  for  one  : 
The  only  thing  he  did  not  dare 

Was  any  death  to  shun. 

The  Nelson  touch  his  men  he  taught, 

And  his  great  stride  to  keep ; 
His  faithful  fellows  round  him  fought 


214  AN  OLD  MAN -(?  WAR'S -MAN  YARN. 

Ten  thousand  heroes  deep. 
With  a  red  pride  of  life,  and  hot 

For  him,  their  blood  ran  free ; 
They  "  minded  not  the  showers  of  shot, 

No  more  THAN  peas,"  said  he. 

Napoleon  saw  our  sea-king  thwart 

His  landing  on  our  isle ; 
He  gnashed  his  teeth,  he  gnawed  his  heart, 

At  Nelson  of  the  Nile, 
Who  set  his  fleet  in  flames,  to  light 

The  lion  to  his  prey, 
And  lead  Destruction  through  the  night 

Upon  his  dreadful  way. 

Around  the  world  he  drove  his  game, 

And  ran  his  glorious  race ; 
Nor  rested  till  he  hunted  them 

From  off  the  ocean's  face ; 
vLike  that  old  war-dog  who,  till  death, 

Clung  to  the  vessel's  side 
Till  hands  were  lopped,  then  with  his  teeth 

He  held  on  till  he  died. 

O,  he  could  do  the  deeds  that  set 

Old  fighters'  hearts  afire  ; 
The  edge  of  every  spirit  whet, 

And  every  arm  inspire. 


AN  OLD  MAN -0'- WAR'S -MAN  YARN. 

Yet  I  have  seen  upon  his  face 
The  tears  that,  as  they  roll, 

Show  what  a  light  of  saintly  grace 
May  clothe  a  sailor's  soul. 

And  when  our  darling  went  to  meet 

Trafalgar's  Judgment-day, 
The  people  knelt  down  in  the  street 

To  bless  him  on  his  way. 
He  felt  the  country  of  his  love 

Watching  him  from  afar  ; 
It  saw  him  through  the  battle  move  : 

His  heaven  was  in  that  star. 

Magnificently  glorious  sight 

It  was  in  that  great  dawn  ! 
Like  one  vast  sapphire  flashing  light, 

The  sea,  just  breathing,  shone. 
Their  ships,  fresh  painted,  stood  up  tall 

And  stately  :  ours  were  grim 
And  weatherworn,  but  one  and  all 

In  rare  good  fighting  trim. 

Our  spirits  were  all  flying  light, 

And  into  battle  sped, 
Straining  for  it  on  wings  of  might, 

With  feet  of  springy  tread ; 
The  battle  light  on  every  face ; 

Its  fire  in  every  eye ; 


215 


216  AN  OLDMAN-CT-WARS-MAN  YARN. 

Our  sailor  blood  at  swiftest  pace 
To  catch  the  victory  nigh. 

His  proudly  wasted  face,  wave-worn, 

Was  loftily  serene ; 
I  felt  the  brave,  bright  spirit  burn 

There,  all  too  plainly  seen  ; 
As  though  the  sword  this  time  was  drawn 

Forever  from  the  sheath  ; 
And  when  its  work  to-day  was  done, 

All  would  be  dark  in  death. 

His  eye  shone  like  a  lamp  of  night 

Set  in  the  porch  of  power  ; 
The  deed  unborn  was  burning  bright 

Within  him  at  that  hour  ! 
His  purpose,  welded  at  white  heat, 

Cried  like  some  visible  Fate, 
"  To-day  we  must  not  merely  beat : 

We  must  annihilate." 

He  smiled  to  see  the  Frenchman  show 

His  reckoning  for  retreat, 
With  Cadiz  port  on  his  lee-bow  ; 

And  held  him  then  half  beat. 
They  showed  no  colors,  till  we  drew 

Them  out  to  strike  with  there  ! 
Old  Victory,  for  a  prize  or  two, 

Had  flags  enough  to  spare. 


AN  OLD  M 'AN -0'-  WARS -MAN  YARN.  217 

Mast-high  the  famous  signal  ran  ; 

Breathless  we  caught  each  word  : 
"  England  expects  that  every  man 

Will  do  his  duty."     Lord, 
You  should  have  seen  our  faces  !  heard 

Us  cheering,  row  on  row ; 
Like  men  before  some  furnace  stirred 

To  a  fiery  fearful  glow  ! 

'T  was  Collingwood  our  lee  line  led, 

And  cut  their  centre  through. 
"  See  how  he  goes  in  !  "  Nelson  said, 

As  his  first  broadside  flew, 
And  near  four  hundred  foemen  fall. 

Up  went  another  cheer. 
"  Ah,  what  would  Nelson  give,"  said  Coll, 

"  But  to  be  with  us  here  1 " 

We  grimly  kept  our  vanward  path  ; 

Over  us  hummed  their  shot ; 
But,  silently,  we  reined  our  wrath, 

Held  on,  and  answered  not, 
Till  we  could  grip  them  face  to  face, 

And  pound  them  for  our  own, 
Or  hug  them  in  a  war-embrace, 

Till  one  of  us  went  down. 

How  calm  he  was  !  when  first  he  felt 
The  sharp  edge  of  that  fight. 


218  AN  OLD  MAN-&-WARS-MAN  YARN. 

Cabined  with  God  alone  he  knelt ; 

The  prayer  still  lay  in  light 
Upon  his  face,  that  used  to  shine 

In  battle,  —  flash  with  life, 
As  though  the  glorious  blood  ran  wine, 

Dancing  with  that  wild  strife. 

"  Fight  for  us,  ihou  Almighty  One  ! 

Give  victory  once  again  ! 
And  if  I  fall,  Thy  will  be  done. 

Amen,  Amen,  Amen  !  " 
With  such  a  voice  he  bade  good  by  ; 

The  mournfullest  old  smile  wore  : 
"  Farewell !     God  bless  you,  Blackwood,  I 

Shall  never  see  you  more." 

And  four  hours  after,  he  had  done 

With  winds  and  troubled  foam. 
The  Reaper  was  borne  dead  upon 

Our  load  of  harvest-home  — 
Not  till  he  knew  the  old  flag  flew 

Alone  on  all  the  deep  ; 
Then  said  he,  "  Hardy,  is  that  you  ? 

Kiss  me."     And  fell  asleep. 

Well,  't  was  his  chosen  death  below 

The  deck  in  triumph  trod ; 
'T  is  well.     A  sailor's  soul  should  go 

From  his  good  ship  to  God. 


AN  OLD  MAN -0'- WARS- MAN  YARN.  219 

He  would  have  chosen  death  aboard, 

From  all  the  crowns  of  rest ; 
And  burial  with  the  patriot  sword 

Upon  the  victor's  breast. 

"  Not  a  great  sinner."     No,  dear  heart, 

God  grant  in  our  death-pain, 
We  may  have  played  as  well  our  part, 

And  feel  as  free  from  stain. 
We  see  the  spots  on  such  a  star,  • 

Because  it  burned  so  bright ; 
But  on  the  side  next  God  they  are 

All  lost  in  greater  light. 

And  so  he  went  upon  his  way, 

A  higher  deck  to  walk, 
Or  sit  in  some  eternal  day, 

And  of  the  old  time  talk 
With  sailors  old,  who,  on  that  coast, 

Welcome  the  homeward  bound ; 
Where  many  a  gallant  soul  we  've  lost, 

And  Franklin  will  be  found. 

Where  amidst  London's  roar  and  moil 

That  cross  of  peace  upstands, 
Like  martyr  with  his  heavenward  smile, 

And  flame-lit,  lifted  hands, 
There  lies  the  dark  and  mouldered  dust ; 

But  that  magnanimous 
And  manly  Seaman's  soul,  I  trust, 

Lives  on  in  some  of  us. 


OLD   KING  HAKE. 

'  OT  by  the  Sea  on  a  rocky  coast 
Was  old  King  Hake ; 

Where  inner  fire  and  outer  frost 

Brave  virtue  make ! 
He  was  a  hero  in  the  old 

Blood-letting  days ; 
An  iron  hero  of  Norse  mould, 

And  warring  ways. 
He  lived  according  to  the  light 

That  lighted  him ; 
Then  strode  into  the  eternal  night, 

Resolved  and  grim. 
His  grip  was  stern  for  free  sword  play, 

When  men  were  mown ; 
His  feet  were  roughshod  for  the  day 

Of  treading  down. 
When  angry,  out  the  blood  would  start 

With  old  King  Hake ; 
Not  sneak  in  dark  caves  of  the  heart, 

Where  curls  the  snake, 


OLD  KING  HAKE.  22l 

And  secret  Murder's  hiss  is  heard 

Ere  the  deed  be  done. 
He  wove  no  web  of  wile  and  word ; 

He  bore  with  none. 
When  sharp  within  its  sheath  asleep 

Lay  his  good  sword, 
He  held  it  royal  work  to  keep 

His  kingly  word. 
A  man  of  valor,  bloody  and  wild, 

In  Viking  need ; 
And  yet  of  firelight  feeling  mild 

As  honey-mead. 

Once  in  his  youth,  from  farm  to  farm, 

Collecting  Scatt, 
He  gathered  gifts  and  welcomes  warm ; 

And  one  night  sat, 
With  hearts  all  happy  for  his  throne  — 

Wishing  no  higher  — 
Where  peasant  faces  merrily,  shone 

Across  the  fire. 
Their  Braga-bowl  was  handed  round 

By  one  fair  girl : 
The  Sea-King  lookt  and  thought,  "I've found 

My  hidden  pearl." 
Her  wavy  hair  was  golden  fair, 

With  sunbeams  curled; 
Her  eyes  clear  blue  as  heaven,  and  there 

Lay  his  new  world. 


222  OLD  KING  HAKE. 

He  drank  out  of  the  mighty  horn, 

Strong,  stinging  stuff; 
Then  wiped  his  manly  mouth  unshorn 

With  hand  as  rough, 
And  kissed  her ;  drew  her  to  his  side, 

With  loving  mien, 
Saying,  "  If  they  will  make  you  a  Bride, 

I  'II  make  you  a  Queen." 
And  round  her  waist  she  felt  an  arm, 

For  in  those  days 
A  waist  could  feel :  't  was  lithe  and  warm, 

And  wore  no  stays. 
"  How  many  brave  deeds  have  you  done  ?  " 

She  asked  her  wooer, 
Counting  the  arm's  gold  rings :  they  won 

One  victory  more. 
The  blood  of  joy  looked  rich  and  red 

Out  of  his  face ; 
And  to  his  smiling  strength  he  wed 

Her  maiden  grace. 
'T  was  thus  King  Hake  struck  royal  root 

In  homely  ground ; 
And  healthier  buds  with  goodlier  fruit 

His  branches  crowned. 

But  Hake  could  never  bind  at  home 

His  spirit  free ; 
It  grew  familiar  with  the  foam 

Of  many  a  sea ; 


OLD  KING  HAKE.  223 

A  rare  good  blade  whose  way  was  rent 

In  gaps  of  war, 
And  wore  no  gem  for  ornament 

But  notch  and  scar. 
In  day  of  battle  and  hour  of  strife, 

Cried  Old  King  Hake  : 
"Kings  live  for  honor,  not  long  life." 

Then  would  he  break 
Right  through  their  circle  of  shields,  to  reach 

Some  chief  of  a  race 
That  never  yielded  ground,  but  each 

Died  in  his  place. 
There  the  old  Norseman  towered  tall 

Above  the  rest 
A  head  and  shoulders,  like  King  Saul  ; 

They  saw  his  crest 
Toss,  where  the  war-wave  reared,  and  rode 

O'er  mounds  of  dead, 
Till  all  the  battle-dust  was  trod 

A  miry  red. 
For  Odin,  in  the  glad  wide  blue 

Of  heaven,  would  laugh 
With  sunrise,  and  the  ruddy  dew 

Of  slaughter  quaff. 

But,  't  was  the  bravest,  lordliest  show, 

To  see  him  sit, 
With  his  Long-Serpent  all  aglow, 

And  steering  it 


224  OLD  KING  BAKE. 

For  the  hot  heart  of  fiercest  fight. 

A  grewsome  shape ! 
The  dragon-head  rose,  glancing  bright, 

And  all  agape ; 
Over  the  calm  blue  sea  it  came 

Writhingly  on, 
As  half  in  sea,  and  half  in  flame, 

It  swam,  and  shone. 
The  sunlit  shields  link  scale  to  scale 

From  stem  to  stern, 
Over  the  steersman's  head  the  tail 

Doth  twist  and  burn. 
With  oars  all  moved  at  once,  it  makes 

Low  hoverings ; 
Half  walks  the  water,  and  half  takes 

The.  air  with  wings. 
The  war-horns  bid  the  fight  begin 

With  death-grip  good  : 
King  Hake  goes  at  the  foremost,  in 

His  Bare-Sark  mood. 
A  twelvemonth's  taxes  spent  in  spears 

Hurled  in  an  hour ! 
But  in  that  host  no  spirit  fears 

The  hurtling  shower. 
And  long  will  many  a  mother  and  wife 

Wait,  weary  at  home, 
Ere  from  that  mortal  murderous  strife 

Their  darlings  come. 


OLD  KING  HAKE.  225 

Hake  did  not  seek  to  softly  die, 

With  child  and  wife : 
He  bore  his  head  in  death  as  high 

As  in  his  life. 
Glittering  in  eye,  and  grim  in  lip, 

He  bade  them  make 
Ready  for  sailing  his  War-Ship, 

That  he,  King  Hake, 
The  many-wounded,  gray,  and  old, 

His  day  being  done, 
He,  the  Norse  warrior,  brave  and  bold, 

Might  die  like  one. 
And  chanting  some  old  battle-song, 

Thrilling  and  weird, 
His  soul  vibrating,  shook  his  long 

Majestic  beard. 
The  gilded  battle-axe,  still  red, 

In  his  right  hand ; 
His  shield  on  arm,  his  helm  on  head, 

They  helpt  him  stand, 
And  girded  him  with  his  good  sword  ; 

Then,  so  attired, 
With  his  dead  warriors  all  aboard, 

The  ship  he  fired, 
And  lay  down  with  his  heroes  dead, 

On  deck  to  die  ; 
Still  singing,  drooped  his  gray  old  head, 

With  face  to  sky. 
IS 


226  OLD  KING  HAKE. 

The  wind  blew  seawards  ;  gloriously 

The  death-pyre  glowed ; 
On  his  last  Viking  voyage  he 

Triumphing  rode  : 
Floating  afar  between  the  Isles, 

To  his  last  home, 
Where  open-armed  Valhalla  smiles, 

And  bids  him  come. 
There,  as  a  sinking  sunset  dies 

Down  in  the  west, 
The  fire  flamed  out ;  the  rude  heart  lies 

At  rest  —  at  rest, 
And  sleeping  in  its  ocean  bed, 

That  burial-place 
Most  royal  for  the  kingly  dead 

O'  the  old  sea-race ! 
So  the  Norse  noble  of  renown, 

With  fearless  pride, 
His  flaming  crown  of  death  pulled  down. 

And  so  he  died. 


GARIBALDI. 


HIS  is  the  Helper  that  Italy  wanted 
To  free  her  from  fetters  and  grave- 
clothes  quite : 
His  is  the  great  heart  no  dangers  have 

daunted ; 

His  is  the  true  hand  to  finish  the  fight. 
Way,  for  a  Man  of  the  kingliest  nature  ! 
Scope,  for  a  soul  of  the  high  Roman  stature ! 
His  great  deeds  have  crowned  him  ; 
His  heroes  are  round  him ; 
On,  on,  Garibaldi,  for  Freedom  and  Right. 

To  brave  battle-music  up  goes  the  smoke-curtain  ; 

A  Country  arises  all  one  should  he  call : 
The  sound  of  his  trumpet  is  never  uncertain ; 

He  fights  for  his  Cause  till  it  conquer  or  fall. 
His  chariot-wheels  do  not  spin  without  biting ; 
And  far  better  pointed  for  Freedom's  red  writing  — 
His  Rifles  and  Guns  — 
Than  their  politic  pens ; 
Garibaldi,  my  Hero,  best  Man  of  them  all. 


228  GARIBALDI. 

When  he  sailed  up  our  river,  the  frank  hearty  Sea- 
man, 

We  saw  how  an  English  soul  smiled  from  his  face : 
For  Italy's  savior  we  knew  it  was  THE  man, 

All  hero,  no  matter  what  garb,  or  what  place. 
And  we  prayed  he  might  have  one  more  grip  that 

was  glorious ! 

Prophesied  he  should  be  leader  victorious 
Of  Italy,  free 
From  the  Alps  to  the  sea  ; 

Now  breathless  we  watch  while  he  runs  the  great 
race. 

Fierce  out  of  torment  his  fighters  have  risen, 
Shouting  from  hell  where  they  tortured  them 

dumb  : 

Maimed  from  old  battle-fields,  mad  from  the  prison, 

Suddenly,  strange  as  Cloud-armies,  they  come ; 

With  mouths  that  can  shut  like  the  Eagle's  beak 

clasping ; 
With  hands  that  will  grip  like  a  bower-anchor 

grasping ; 

The  flying  foe  feels, 
When  they  're  close  at  his  heels, 
That  Death  and  the  Devil  are  bringing  his  doom. 

Not  only  living  !  but  dead  men  are  fighting 

For  him  !  thus  with  few  he  can  fight  the  great 
host; 


GARIBALDI.  229 

For  each  one  they  see  an  unseen  foe  is  smiting ; 

Over  each  head  an  avenging  white  ghost ! 
All  the  young  Martyrs  they  murdered  by  moon- 
light ; 

All  the  dark  deeds  of  blood  done  in  the  noonlight, 
Make  their  hearts  reel 
With  a  shudder,  and  kneel 
To  lay  down  their  arms  and  give  all  up  for  lost. 

They  tell  the  wild  tales  of  him,  gathered  together, 

Turn  pale  at  his  shadow  in  midst  of  their  speech ; 

For  down  he  swoops  on  them,  like  hawk  on  the 

heather, 

Strikes  home  with  sure  aim,  and  up-soars  be- 
yond reach. 
Or  he  sweeps  all  before  him  with  whirling  blade 

reeking ; 

They  fly  helter-skelter,  for  shelter  run  shrieking, 
As  waves  wild  and  white,    * 
Driven  mad  with  affright, 
Are  dasht  into  foam  as  they  hide  up  the  beach. 

Watching  o'  nights  in  the  cold,  he  remer  hers 
The  homes  of  his  love  in  their  ashes  laid  low ; 

And  hot  in  his  heart  Vengeance  rakes   up  the 

embers, 
To  warm  her  old  hands  at  the  wrathful  red  glow. 

He  has  had  torn  from  him  all  that  was  nearest ; 


230  GARIBALDI. 

He  has  seen  murdered  his  darlings  the  dearest  j 

With  all  this  and  more, 

To  the  heart's  crimson  core 
He  kindles  !  and  all  flashes  out  on  the  Foe. 

No  Peace,  Garibaldi,  till  Italy,  stronger 

Shall  sit  with  free  nations,  majestic,  serene  ; 
And  meet  them  as  lovers  may  meet  when  no  longer 
The  cold  corse  of  one  that  was  dead  lies  between. 
For  this,  God  was  with  you  when  perils  were 

round  you ; 
For  this,  the  fire  smote  you  not,  floods  have  not 

drowned  you ; 

Their  Sword  and  their  Shot 
Have  harmed  you  not, 

And  your  Purpose  croucht  long  for  its  spring  un- 
seen. 

On,  with  ourTBritish  hearts  all  beating  true  to  you  ; 

All  keeping  time  to  the  march  of  the  brave  ! 
I  would  to  God  we  might  cut  our  way  through  to 

you, 

Gallantly  breasting  the  stormiest  wave. 
Would  the  old  Lion  could  leap  in  to  greet  you, 
Just  as  our  free  blood  is  leaping  to  meet  you, 
Stand  by  your  side, 
In  his  terrible  pride, 
Mighty  to  shield,  as  You  're  daring  to  save 


GARIBALDI.  231 

Long  was  the  night  of  her  kneeling  ;  but  surely 

Shall  Italy  rise  to  her  queenliest  height. 
Many  a  time  has  the  battle  gone  sorely, 

To  make  the  last   triumph   more  signal   and 

bright. 
Her  foes  shall  be  swept  from  her  path  like  the 

stubble, 

For  now  is  their  day  of  down-treading  and  trouble ; 
God  tires  of  old  Rome  ! 
Venetia  cries  "  Come." 
On,  on,  Garibaldi,  for  Freedom  and  Eight. 


232         ONE   OF  GARIBALDPS  MEN. 


ONE   OF   GARIBALDI'S   MEN. 

CRIPPLED  Child,  a  weak  wan 

Boy, 

Sat  by  his  Mother's  side,  — 
A  widowed  Mother's  gentle  joy, 
Her  only  wealth  and  pride :  — 
One  of  those  spirits,  sweet  and  sad, 

That  breathe  with  burdened  breath, 
Are  grave  in  life,  but  calmly  glad 
Their  faces  smile  in  death. 

With  a  weird  lustre  in  his  look, 

Over  his  books  he  pored, 
Like  one  that,  in  a  secret  nook, 

Sharpens  a  patriot  sword. 
The  story  of  his  Country's  wrongs 

Made  his  heart  melt  in  tears ; 
The  music  of  her  olden  songs 

Rang  ever  in  his  ears. 

Oft  in  his  face,  white  as  a  corse, 
Brave  soldier  blood  up-springs, 


ONE   OF  GARIBALDI'S  MEN.        233 

Hot  as  the  warrior  leaps  to  horse,  .   • 

When  Battle's  trumpet  rings ; 

With  spirit  afloat  and  blood  aflame, 
Where  Freedom's  banners  wave, 

To  win  a  name  of  glorious  fame, 
Or  fill  a  Soldier's  grave. 

The  leal  heart  of  a  loving  Maid 

Ran  over  towards  him, 
Longing  with  kisses  to  be  stayed 

There  at  the  ruddy  brim ! 
But  husht  the  yearning  in  her  breast, 

Nor  murmur  made  nor  moan  ; 
She  lookt  as  though  she  had  found  the  nest, 

But,  lo !  the  Bird  was  flown. 

Suddenly,  Freedom's  thunder-horn 

The  graveyard  stillness  broke ;  — 
It  was  the  resurrection-morn, 

And  Italy  awoke ! 
Ho  felt  her  majesty  and  strength 

Lift  up  his  spirit  too : 
To  Manhood  he  had  leapt  at  length, 

And  almost  stately  grew. 

Then  came,  with  all  they  had  to  give, 

Each  kneeling  worshipper : 
And  he,  too,  not  worth  much  to  live, 

But  he  could  die  for  her. 


234         ONE  OF  GARIBALDPS  MEN. 

The  Widow  gave  her  only  Child, 
And  bade  him  help  to  win ; 

While  outwardly  her  proud  face  smiled, 
She  —  dropping  tears  within ! 

The  General  lookt  on  this  young  life 

Held  out  in  hands  so  small ! 
He  could  not,  for  the  battle-strife, 

Take  the  poor  Widow's  all. 
"  Poor  Child!  "  he  said,  "  rest  you  at  home 

For  the  good  Mother's  sake ; 
We  'II  not  forget  you  when  we  come." 

It  made  his  old  heart  ache. 

'T  was  at  the  close  of  one  great  day, 

The  Red  Shirts  raised  their  cheer, 
For  Garibaldi  came  to  say, 

"  Well  done  !  "     One  cried,  "  /  'm  here  ! 
And  wounded  in  the  battle's  brunt." 

"  What!  hit  behind,  my  child? 
But  brave  men  wear  their  wounds  in  front." 

And  playfully  he  smiled. 

Again,  at  the  Volturno's  fight 

The  boy  led  on  his  band ; 
Uplifted  there  on  Capua's  height, 

He  saw  the  Promised  Land, 
As  Pilgrims  see  their  Mecca  rise 

Over  the  desert's  rim;  — 


ONE   OF  GARIBALDI'S  MEN.        235 

He  saw,  —  possessed  it  with  his  eyes  ! 
Enough,  enough  for  him. 

Proud  of  his  Boys,  the  General  rode 

Past  faces  all  aflame, 
And  praised  them ;  and  their  spirits  glowed 

As  if  from  heaven  he  came. 
Then  something  caught  his  eye ;  he  reined 

His  horse,  stooped  like  a  grand 
Old  weather-beaten  angel,  stained 

With  battle-smoke,  and  tanned  ! 

With  look  more  keen  than  cry  or  call, 

One  staggered  from  the  rest : 
"  7  'nj  hit  once  more,  my  General,  — 

And  "  —  pointing  to  his  breast,  — 
"  This  time  —  see  !  —  't  is  in  the  right  place." 

His  smile  was  strangely  sweet : 
He  lookt  in  Garibaldi's  face, 

And  fell  dead  at  his  feet ! 


236      GARIBALDI  AT  ASPROMONTE. 


GAKIBALDI  AT   ASPROMONTE. 

i  HE  Lion  is  down,  and  how  the  Dogs 

will  run ; 
Something   above   the  level   is   their 

'delight 

For  insult ;  Asses  lift  the  hoof  to  smite  ; 
The  Birds  of  darkness  hoot,  "  His  day  is  done." 

"  Would  he  had  kept  his  attitude  sublime  !  " 

Cry  some  ;  "  With  crossed  arms  held  his  heart  at 

rest,  « 

And  left  us  his  grand  likeness  at  its  best ; 

High  on  a  hill  up  which  the  world  might  climb  !  " 

"  Better  for  all  had  he  been  sooner  shrined ; 

The  old  true  heart,  and  very  foolish  head! 

A  model  Man  —  especially  if  dead  — 
Perfect  as  some  Greek  statue  —  and  as  blind  I " 

Friends  talk  of  failure  ;  and  I  know  how  he 
Will  slowly  lift  his  loving,  cordial  eyes 
And  look  them  through,  with  mournful,  strange 
surprise, 

Until  they  shrink  and  feel  't  is  Italy 


GARIBALDI  AT  ASPROMONTE. 


237 


That  fails  instead.     The  words  they  came  to  speak 
Will  slink  back,  awed  by  his  majestic  calm, 
His  wounds  are  such  as  bleed  immortal  balm, 

And  he  is  strong  again ;  the  friends  are  weak. 

It  is  not  failure  to  be  thus  struck  down 

By  Brothers  who  obeyed  their  Foe's  command, 
And  in  the  darkness  lopped  the  saving  hand 

Put  forth  to  reach  their  country  her  last  crown. 

He  only  sought  to  see  her  safely  home ; 
The  tragic  trials  end ;  the  sufferings  cease, 
In  wedded  oneness  and  completing  peace  ; 

Then  bow  his  old  gray  head  and  die  in  Rome. 

It  is  no  failure  to  be  thus  struck  back  — 

Caught   in   a  Country's   arms  —  claspt  to  her 

heart  — 
She  tends  his  wounds  awhile,  and  then  will  start 

Afresh  !    Some  precious  drops  mark  out  her  track. 

No  failure  !  though  the  rocks  dash  into  foam 
This  first  strength  of  a  nation's  new  life-stream, 
'T  will  rise  —  a  Bow  of  Promise  —  that  shall 
gleam 

In  glory  over  all  the  waves  to  come. 

Christ  did  not  fail  because  he  found  a  cross  ; 
The  work  went  on,  although  the  Saviour  died 
With  two  poor  malefactors  at  His  side : 

Eternal  gain  repays  such  human  loss ! 


238       GARIBALDI  AT  ASPROMONTE. 

We  miss  a  footstep,  thinking  "  Here 's  a  stair," 
In  some  uncertain  way  we  darkly  tread ; 
But  God's  enduring  skies  are  overhead, 

And  spirits  step  their  surest  oft  in  air. 

His  ways  are  not  as  our  ways  ;  the  new  birth, 
At  cost  of  the  old  life,  is  often  given. 
To-day  God  crowns  the  Martyrs  in  his  heaven 

To-morrow  whips  their  murderers  on  our  earth. 

You  take  back  Garibaldi  to  his  prison  ! 

Why,  that  may  be  the  very  road  to  Rome ; 

They  would  have  said,   "  She  croucheth  to  her 

doom," 
If  Italy,  in  some  shape,  had  not  risen  ! 

I  say  't  was  God's  voice  bade  him  offer  np 
Himself  for  Aspromonte's  sacrifice  ; 
So,  to  that  height,  his  countrymen  might  rise : 

For  them  he  freely  drank  his  bitter  cup. 

It  is  a  faith  too  many  still  receive,  — 

Since  the  false  prophecy  of  old  went  forth  — 
"  Tlie,  tribe  of  Judas  yet  shall  rule  the  earth." 

But  he  is  one  that  never  would  believe. 

His  vision  is  most  clear  where  ours  is  dim. 

The  mystic  spirit  of  eternity 

That  slumbers  in  us  deep  and  dreamingly, 
Was  ever  quick  and  more  awake  in  him. 


GARIBALDI  AT  ASPROMONTE.      239 

And,  like  a  lamp  across  some  lonesome  heath, 
A  light  shone  through  his  eyes  no  night  could 

quench  : 
The  winds  might  make  it  flicker,  rains  might 

drench ; 
Nothing  could  dim  it  save  the  dark  of  death. 

And  if  his  work  's  unfinished  in  the  flesh, 
Why,  then  his  soul  will  join  the  noble  dead 
And  toil  till  it  shall  be  accomplished, 

And  Italy  hath  burst  this  Devil's  mesh. 

Easier  to  conquer  kingdoms  than  to  breed 
A  man  like  Garibaldi,  whose  great  name 
Doth  fence  his  country  with  his  glorious  fame, 

Worth  many  armies  in  her  battle-need. 

His  is  the  royal  heart  that  never  quails, 

But  always  conquers  ;  wounded,  pale,  and  low, 
He  never  was  so  dear  as  he  is  now  ; 

They  bind  him,  and  more  strongly  he  prevails. 

Greater  to-day  than  Emperor  or  King, 

There,  where,  for  throne,  they  seat  him  in  the 

dust, 
The  express  image  of  sublimest  Trust, 

Crowned,  consecrated  by  his  suffering. 


240       GARIBALDI  AT  ASPROMONTE. 

A  sovereignty  that  overtops  success  1 

Nothing  but  heaven  might  bind  his  patriot-brow, 
And  lo,  the  Crown  of  Thorns  is  on  it  now ; 

With  higher  guerdon  than  our  world's  caress. 

The  vision  of  all  his  glory  fills  our  eyes, 
And  with  one  heart  expectant  nations  throb 
Around  him  —  with  one  mighty  prayer  they  sob, 

And  wait  God's  answer  to  this  sacrifice, — 

Praying  for  one  more  chance  at  turn  of  tide  : 
One  blow  for  Rome,  ere  many  setting  suns  ; 
One  stroke  for  Venice,  kneeling  'neath  her  Guns ; 

All  Italy  abreast,  and  at  his  side  ; 

That  he  may  stand,  as  Wellington  once  stood 
Victorious,  looking  from  the  Pyrenees, 
With  France  below  him  ;  offering,  on  her  knees, 

The  White  flower  Peace,  sprung  from  her  Root  of 
Blood. 


A  LETTER  IN  BLACK. 


FLOATING  on  the  fragrant  flood 
Of    Summer  —  fuller   hour   by 

hour; 
All  the  Spring-sweetness  of  the 

bud 

Crowned  by  the  glory  of  the  flower,  — 
My  spirits  with  the  season  flowed. 

The  air  was  all  a  breathing  balm ; 
The  lake  a  flame  of  sapphire  glowed ; 
The  mountains  lay  in  cloudless  calm : 

Green  leaves  were  lusty ;  roses  blusht 

For  pleasure  in  the  golden  time  ; 
The  birds  through  all  their  feathers  flusht 

For  gladness  of  their  marriage-prime : 
Listless  among  the  lilies  I  threw 

Me  down,  for  coolness,  'mid  the  sheen : 
Heaven,  one  large  smile  of  brooding  blue ; 

Earth,  one  large  smile  of  basking  green. 
16 


242  A  LETTER  IN  BLACK. 

A  rich  suspended  shower  of  gold 

Laburnum  o'er  me  hung  its  crown  : 
You  look  up  heavenward  and  behold 

It  glowing,  coming  in  glory  down  ! 
There,  as  my  thoughts  of  greenness  grew 

To  fruitage  of  a  leafy  dream,  — 
There,  friend,  your  letter  thrilled  me  through, 

And  all  the  summer  lost  its  gleam. 

The  world,  so  pleasant  to  the  sight, 

So  full  of  voices  blithe  and  brave, 
And  all  her  lamps  of  beauty  alight 

With  life !  I  had  forgot  the  Grave ; 
And  there  it  opened  at  my  feet, 

Revealing  a  familiar  face 
Upturned,  my  whitened  look  to  meet, 

And  very  patient  in  its  place. 

My  poor  bereaven  friend !  I  know 

Not  how  to  word  it,  but  would  bring 
A  little  solace  for  your  woe,  — 

A  little  love  for  comforting : 
And  yet  the  best  that  I  can  say 

Will  only  help  to  sum  your  loss ; 
I  can  but  look  above,  and  pray 

God  help  my  friend  to  bear  his  Cross. 

I  have  felt  something  of  your  smart, 
And  lost  the  dearest  thing  e'er  wound 


A  LETTER  IN  SLACK.  243 

In  love  about  a  human  heart : 

I,  too,  have  life-roots  underground. 

From  out  my  soul  hath  leapt  a  cry 

For  help  !     Nor  God  himself  could  save : 

And  tears  yet  run  that  naught  will  dry, 
Save  Death's  hand  with  the  dust  o'  the  grave. 

God  knows,  and  we  may  one  day  know, 

These  hidden  secrets  of  his  love ; 
But  now  the  stillness  stuns  us  so ; 

Darkly,  as  in  a  dream,  we  move. 
The  glad  life-pulses  come  and  go, 

Over  our  head  and  at  our  feet ; 
Soft  airs  are  sighing  something  low ; 

The  flowers  are  saying  something  sweet ; 

And  't  is  a  merry  world.     The  lark 

Is  singing  over  the  green  corn ; 
Only  the  house  and  heart  are  dark, — 

Only  the  human  world  forlorn. 
There,  in  the  bridal  chamber,  lies 

A  dear  bedfellow  all  in  white ; 
That  purple  shadow  under  the  eyes, 

Where  star-fire  swam  in  liquid  night. 

Sweet,  slippery  silver  of  her  talk ; 

The  music  of  her  laugh  so  dear, 
Heard  in  home-ways,  and  wedded  walk, 

For  many  and  many  a  golden  year ; 


244  A  LETTER  IN  BLACK. 

The  singing  soul  and  shining  face, 
Daisy-like  glad  by  roughest  road ; 

Gone !  with  a  thousand  dearnesses 
That  hid  themselves  for  us  and  glowed. 

The  waiting  Angel,  patient  Wife, 

All  through  the  battle  at  our  side, 
That  smiled  her  sweetness  on  our  strife 

For  gain,  and  it  was  sanctified  ! 
When  waves  of  trouble  beat  breast  high 

And  the  heart  sank,  she  poured  a  balm 
That  stilled  them  ;  and  the  saddest  sky 

Made  clear  and  starry  with  her  calm. 

And  when  the  world  with  harvest  ripe 

In  all  its  golden  fulness  lay ; 
And  God,  it  seemed,  saw  fit  to  wipe, 

Even  on  earth,  all  tears  away; 
The  good  true  heart  that  bravely  won, 

Must  smile  up  in  our  face  and  fall ; 
And  all  our  happy  days  are  done, 

And  this  the  end.     And  is  this  all  ? 

The  bloom  of  bliss,  the  secret  glow, 
That  clothed  without,  and  inly  curled, 

All  gone.     We  are  left  shivering  now, 
Naked  to  the  wide  open  world  ! 

A  shrivelled,  withered  world  it  is, 
So  sad  and  miserably  cold ; 


A  LETTER  IN  BLACK.  245 

Where  be  its  vaunted  braveries  ? 
'T  is  gray,  and  miserably  old. 

Our  joy  was  all  a  drunken  dream ; 

This  is  the  truth  at  waking !  we 
Are  swept  out  rootless  by  the  stream 

And  current  of  calamity  — 
Out  on  some  lone  and  shoreless  sea 

Of  solitude  so  vast  and  deep, 
As  't  were  the  wrong  Eternity, 

Where  God  is  not,  or  gone  to  sleep. 

It  seems  as  though  our  darling  dead, 

Startled  at  Death's  so  sudden  call, 
With  falling  hands  and  dear  bowed  head 

Had,  like  a  flower-filled  lap,  let  fall 
A  hoard  of  treasures  we  have  found 

Too  late  !  so  slow  doth  wisdom  come ! 
We  for  the  first  time  look  around 

Eemembering  this  is  not  our  home. 

My  friend,  I  see  you  with  your  cup 

Of  tears  and  trembling  —  see  you  sit ; 
And  long  to  help  you  drink  it  up, 

With  useless  longings  infinite !  — 
Sit  rocking  the  old  mournful  thought, 

That  on  the  heart's-blood  will  be  nurst, 
Unless  the  blessed  tears  be  brought ; 

Unless  the  cloudy  sorrows  bursf. 


246  A  LETTER  IN  BLACK. 

The  little  ones  are  gone  to  rest, 

And  for  a  while  they  will  not  miss 
The  Mother-wings  above  the  nest ; 

But  through  their  slumber  slides  her  kiss, 
And,  dreaming  she  has  come,  they  start, 

And  toss  wild  arms  for  her  caress, 
With  moanings  that  must  thrill  a  heart 

In  heaven  with  divine  distress. 

And  Sorrow  on  your  threshold  stands, 

The  Dark  Ladye  in  glooming  pall  : 
I  see  her  take  you  by  the  hands ; 

I  feel  her  shadow  over  all. 
Hers  is  no  warm  and  tender  clasp ; 

With  silence  solemn  as  the  Night's, 
And  veiled  face,  and  spirit-grasp, 

She  leads  her  Chosen  up  the  heights  : 

The  cloudy  crags  are  cold  and  gray, 

You  cannot  scale  them  without  scars  : 
So  many  Martyrs  by  the  way, 

Who  never  reacht  her  tower  of  stars, 
But  there  her  beauty  shall  be  seen, 

Her  glittering  face  so  proudly  pure ; 
And  all  her  majesty  of  mien ; 

And  all  her  guerdon  shall  be  sure. 

Well.     'T  is  not  written,  God  will  give 
To  his  Beloved  only  rest ! 


A  LETTER  IN  BLACK.  247 

The  hard  life  of  the  cross  they  live, 
They  strive,  and  suffer,  and  are  blest. 

The  feet  must  bleed  to  reach  their  throne, 
The  brow  must  burn  before  it  bear 

One  of  the  crowns  that  may  be  won, 
By  workers  for  immortal  wear. 

Dear  friend,  life  beats  though  buried  'neath 

Its  long  black  vault  of  night !  and  see 
There  trembles  through  this  dark  of  death, 

Starlight  of  immortality ! 
And  yet  shall  dawn  the  eternal  day 

To  kiss  the  eyes  of  them  that  sleep ; 
And  He  shall  wipe  all  tears  away 

From  tired  eyes  of  them  that  weep. 

'T  is  something  for  the  poor  bereaven, 

In  such  a  weary  world  of  care, 
To  think  that  we  have  friends  in  heaven ; 

Who  helpt  us  here,  may  aid  us  there. 
These  yearnings  for  them  set  our  Arc 

Of  being  widening  more  and  more, 
In  circling  sweep  through  outer  dark 

To  day  more  perfect  than  before. 

So  much  was  left  unsaid.  The  soul 
Must  live  in  other  worlds  to  be ; 

On  earth  we  cannot  grasp  the  whole, 
For  that  Love  has  eternity. 


248  A  LETTER  IN  BLACK. 

Love  deep  as  death,  and  rich  as  rest ; 

Love  that  was  love  with  all  Love's  might ; 
Level  to  needs  the  lowliest ; 

Cannot  be  less  Love  at  full-height. 

Though  earthly  forms  he  far  apart, 

Spirit  to  spirit  may  be  nigher ; 
The  music  chord  the  same  at  heart, 

Though  one  voice  range  an  octave  higher. 
Eyes  watch  us  that  we  cannot  see  ; 

Lips  warn  us  which  we  may  not  kiss  ; 
They  wait  for  us,  and  starrily, 

Lean  toward  us  from  heaven's  lattices. 

We  cannot  see  them  face  to  face, 

But  love  is  nearness ;  and  they  love 
Us  yet,  nor  change,  with  change  of  place, 

In  their  more  human  world  above, 
Where  love,  once  leal,  hath  never  ceased, 

And  dear  eves  never  lose  their  shine, 
And  there  shall  be  a  marriage  feast, 

Where  Christ  shall  once  more  make  the  wine 


WIDOW  MARGARET. 

OOR  Margaret's  window  is  alight ; 

The  Widow  sits  alone  ; 
Though  long  into  the  silent  night, 

And  far,  the  world  is  gone. 
She  lives  in  shadow  till  her  blood 
Grows  bitter  and  blackened  all ; 
Upon  her  head  a  mourning  hood  ; 
Upon  her  heart  a  pall. 

The  stars  come  nightly  out  of  heaven, 

Old  Darkness  to  beguile  ; 
For  her  there  is  no  healing  given 

To  their  sweet  spirit-smile. 
That  honey-dew  of  sleep  the  skies 

In  blessed  balm  let  fall, 
Comes  not  to  her  poor  tired  eyes, 

Though  it  be  sent  for  all. 


At  some  dead  flower,  with  fragrance  faint, 
Her  life  opes  like  a  book  ; 


250  WIDOW  MARGARET. 

And  old  sweet  music  makes  its  plaint, 
And,  from  the  grave's  dim  nook, 

The  buried  bud  of  hopes  laid  low, 
Flowers  in  the  night  full-blown ; 

And  little  things  of  Long- Ago 
Come  back  to  her  full-grown. 

Her  heart  is  wandering  in  a  whirl, 

And  she  must  seek  the  tomb 
Where  lies  her  long-lost  little  girl. 

O,  well  with  them  for  whom 
Love's  Morning-Star  comes  round  so  fair 

As  Evening-Star  of  Faith, 
Already  up  and  shining,  ere 

The  dark  of  coming  death. 

But  Margaret  cannot  reach  a  hand, 

Beyond  the  dark  of  death  ; 
Her  spirit  swoons  in  that  high  land 

Where  breathes  no  human  breath  ; 
She  cannot  look  upon  the  grave 

As  one  eternal  shore  ; 
From  which  a  soul  may  take  the  wave, 

For  heaven,  to  sail  or  soar. 

Across  that  Deep  no  sail  unfurled, 
For  her ;  no  wings  put  forth ; 

She  tries  to  reach  the  other  world 
By  groping  down  through  earth.. 


WID  0  W  MAR  GARET.  251 

'T  was  there  the  child  went  underground  ; 

They  parted  in  that  place  ; 
And  ever  since,  the  Mother  found 

The  door  shut  in  her  face. 

Though  many  effacing  springs  have  wrapped 

With  green,  the  dark  grave-bed  ; 
'T  was  there,  the  breaking  heart-strings  snapped 

As  she  let  down  her  dead  ; 
And  there  she  gropes  with  wild  heart  yet, 

For  years,  and  years,  and  years  ; 
Poor  Margaret !  there  she  will  let 

Her  sorrow  loose  in  tears. 

All  the  young  mother  in  her  old  voice 

Its  waking  moan  will  make ! 
A  young  aurora  light  her  eyea 

With  radiance  gone  to  wreck ! 
And  then  at  dawn  she  will  return, 

To  her  old  self  again  ; 
Eyes  dim  and  dry  ;  heart  gray  and  dern ; 

And  querulous  in  her  pain. 

"  We  never  loved  each  other  much, 

I  and  my  poor  good-man  ; 
But  on  the  Child  we  lavisht  such 

A  love  as  overran 
All  boundaries,  loving  her  the  more 

Because  our  love  was  pent ; 


252  WIDOW  MARGARET. 

Striving  as  two  seas  try  to  pour 

Their  strength  through  one  small  rent. 

"  For  children  come  to  still  link  hands, 

When  lives  have  ebbed  apart  ; 
And  hide  the  rift,  when  either  stands 

At  distance  heart  from  heart. 
So  on  our  little  one  we  'd  look  ; 

Press  hands  with  fonder  grasp ; 
As  though  we  closed  some  holy  book, 

Softly,  with  golden  clasp. 

"  And  as  the  dark  earth  offers  up 

Her  little  winterling, 
The  Crocus,  pleading  with  its  cup 

Of  hoarded  gold,  to  bring 
Down  all  the  gray  heaven's  golden  shower 

Of  spring  to  warm  the  sod ; 
So  did  we  lift  the  winsome  flower 

That  sprang  from  our  dark  clod. 

"  Our  little  Golden-heart,  her  name ! 

And  all  things  sweet  and  calm, 
And  pure  and  fragrant,  round  her  came 

With  gifts  of  bloom  and  balm. 
And  there  she  grew,  my  queen  of  all, 

Golden,  and  saintly  white ; 
Just  as  at  Summer's  smiling  call 

The  lily  stands  alight. 


WIDOW  MARGARET,  253 

"  To  knee  or  nipple,  grew  the  goal 

Of  her  wee  stately  walk ; 
The  voice  of  my  own  silent  soul 

Was  her  dear  baby-talk  ; 
Then  darklingly  she  dwined  and  failed  ; 

And  looking  on  our  dead, 
The  father  wailed  awhile  and  ailed, 

Turned  to  the  wall  and  said  — 

" '  'Tis  dark  and  still,  our  house  of  life, 

The  fire  is  burning  low ; 
Our  pretty  one  is  gone,  old  Wife, 

'T  is  time  for  me  to  go : 
Our  Golden-heart  has  gone  to  sleep ; 

She  's  happed  in  for  the  night  ; 
And  so  to  bed  I  'II  quietly  creep, 

And  sleep  till  morning  light.'  " 

Once  more  the  Widow  Margaret  rose 

And  through  the  night  passed  on. 
Long  shadows  weird  of  tree  and  house 

Made  ghosts  in  the  moonlight  wan ! 
She  passed  into  the  churchyard,  where 

The  many  glad  life-waves 
That  leapt  of  old,  have  stood  still  there, 

In  green  and  grassy  graves. 

"  0  would  my  body  were  at  rest 
Under  this  cool  grave-sward : 


254  WIDOW  MARGARET. 

O  would  my  soul  were  with  the  Blest, 

That  slumber  in  the  Lord ! 
They  sleep  so  sweetly  underground ; 

For  Death  hath  shut  the  door, 
And  all  the  world  of  sorrow  and  sound 

Can  trouble  them  no  more." 

A  spirit-feel  is  in  the  place, 

That  makes  the  poor  heart  gasp ; 
Her  soul  stands  white  up  iu  her  face 

For  one  warm  human  clasp  ! 
To-night  she  sees  the  grave  astir ; 

And  as  in  prayer  she  kneels, 
The  mystery  opens  unto  her : 

She  for  the  first  time  feels. 

The  spirit-world  may  be  as  near 

Us  moving  silent  round, 
As  are  the  dead  that  sleep  a  mere 

Short  fathom  underground ; 
And  there  be  eyes  that  see  the  sight 

Of  lorn  ones  wandering,  vexed 
Through  some  long,  sad,  and  shadowy  night 

Betwixt  this  world  and  next. 

Doorways  of  fear,  are  eye  and  ear, 
Through  which  the  wonders  go  ; 

And  through  the  night  with  glow-worm  light, 
The  Church  is  all  aglow! 


WIDOW  MARGARET.  255 

There  comes  a  waft  of  Sabbath  hymn ; 

She  enters  ;  all  the  air 
With  faces  fills  divine  and  dim, 

The  Blessed  Dead  are  there. 

One  came  and  bade  poor  Margaret  sit, 

Seemed  to  her  as  it  smiled, 
A  great  white  Bird  of  God  alit 

In  a  forest  marble-aisled.  » 

"  Look  to  the  Altar !  "  there  a  spell 

Fixed  her ;  she  saw  upstart, 
A  woman,  like  a  soul  in  hell, 

'T  was  her  own  Golden-heart. 

"  It  would  have  been  thus,  Mother  dear, 

And  so  God  took  her,  from 
All  trials  and  temptations  here, 

To  his  eternal  home ; 
And  you  shall  see  her  in  a  place 

Where  death  can  never  part." 
She  lookt  up  in  the  Angel's  face ; 

Found  her  own  Golden-heart. 

The  lofty  music  rose  again 

From  all  those  happy  souls, 
Till  all  the  windows  thrilled,  as  when 

The  organ  thunder  rolls ; 
And  all  her  life  was  like  a  light 

Weak  weed  the  stream  doth  sway, 


256  WIDOW  MARGARET. 

Until  it  reaches  the  full-height ; 
Breaks,  and  is  borne  away. 

Her  life  stood  still  to  listen  to 

That  music !  then  a  hand 
Took  hers,  and  she  was  floated  through 

A  mystic  border-land. 
'T  was  Golden-heart !  from  that  eclipse 

She  drew  her  into  bliss ; 
Two  spirits  closed  at  dying  lips, 

In  one  immortal  kiss. 

Next  day  an  early  worshipper 

Was  kneeling  in  the  Aisle ; 
A  statue  of  life  that  did  not  stir, 

But  knelt  on  with  a  smile 
Upon  the  face  that  smiled  with  light, 

As  though,  when  left  behind, 
It  smiled  on  with  some  glorious  sight 

Long  after  the  eyes  were  blind. 


HYMNS, 

AND   OTHEE   LYKICS. 

(SOME  or  WHICH  WEBE  WRITTEN  FOB  CHILDREN  TO  SING.) 


AT  EVENTIDE. 


HOU  infinitely  merciful ! 
Thy  garment's  hem  in  prayer  we  pull ; 
Bringing  our  burdens  on  our  knees, 
We  take  the  hand  that  lends  release  : 
Turn  on  us  one  forgiving  look, 
Before  this  day  shall  close  its  book. 

So  yearningly  we  seek  thy  face 
When  darkness  is  our  dwelling-place. 
Our  foolish  hearts,  that  daily  roam, 
Would  nightly  nestle  with  Thee  at  Home. 
Be  with  us  Here,  and  grant  that  we 
Hereafter,  Lord,  may  be  with  Thee ! 

Father !  our  inmost  parts  lie  bare 

To  Thine  own  purifying  air ; 

We  spread  our  stains  out  in  Thy  sight ; 

O,  Sun  of  Pureness,  turn  them  white :         • 

And  make  our  spirits  clear  as  dew 

For  thine  own  Self  to  lighten  through. 


260      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

Send  down  the  Comforter,  we  plead, 
For  all  who  are  in  bitter  need ; 
Let  homeless  Hagars  find,  we  pray, 
Some  well  of  succor  by  the  way : 
With  the  Angel  of  Thy  Presence  bless 
Poor  wanderers  in  the  wilderness. 

God  keep  our  darlings  safe  this  night, 
Though  scattered,  one  still  in  Thy  sight ! 
Lead  on,  by  many  ways,  and  past 
All  perils,  till  we  join  at  last : 
With  us  the  broken  links  !  with  Thee 
The  circle  perfect  endlessly. 

Now  take  us,  Father,  to  Thy  breast, 
And  still  all  troubled  thoughts  to  rest ; 
Thy  watch  and  ward  about  us  keep, 
That  tired  souls  may  smile  asleep, 
And,  having  been  in  heaven  awhile, 
May  wake  to-morrow  with  Thy  smile ! 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS.  261 


OUT   OF  THE  DEPTHS. 

j|O  dark  the  way,  I  cannot  see : 

O,  somewhere-smiling  face  Divine, 
Look  down  and  make  my  night  to 

shine ! 

So  dark  the  way,  I  cannot  see. 
Dear  Jesus,  let  me  lean  on  Thee ! 

All  night  I  stumble  gropingly, 

Seeking  the  door  in  some  blank  wall, 
That  shuts  me  from  the  light,  and  call 

And  listen,. listen  hopingly. 

Dear  Jesus,  let  me  lean  on  Thee ! 

My  burden  bows  me  to  the  knee ; 

0  Lord,  't  is  more  than  I  can  bear. 
Didst  Thou  not  come  our  load  to  share  ? 

My  burden  bows  me  to  the  knee. 
Dear  Jesus,  let  me  lean  on  Thee ! 

The  Deeps  will  surely  swallow  me  ; 

1  cry  with  fainting  strength :  the  waves 
Are  gaping  round  in  open  graves : 

The  Deeps  will  surely  swallow  me. 
Dear  Jesus,  let  me  lean  on  Thee  ! 


262      HYMNS,  AND    OTHER  LYRICS. 

Far  off,  so  far,  the  Heavens  be, 

With  their  wide  arms  !  and  I  would  prove 
The  close  warm-beating  heart  of  Love. 
But  so  far  off  the  Heavens  be  : 
Dear  Jesus,  let  me  lean  on  Thee  ! 

Father  in  Heaven,  we  cannot  see 
Thy  face,  nor  grasp  the  spirit-hand 
That  leads  us  to  the  Unseen  Land ; 
But  trustingly,  though  tremblingly, 
Dear  Jesus,  let  me  lean  on  Thee  ! 

One  smile,  and  all  my  fears  would  flee ; 

One  whisper,  and  the  storm  would  cease  ; 

And  I  should  know  Thee  in  the  peace ; 
The  door  would  ope ;  no  dark  could  be. 
Dear  Jesus,  let  me  lean  on  Thee  ! 


JEEUSALEM   THE    GOLDEN. 

EKUSALEM  the  Golden  ! 
I  weary  for  one  Gleam 
Of  all  thy  glory  folden 

In  distance  and  in  dream ! 
My  thoughts,  like  Palms  in  Exile, 
Climb  up  to  look  and  pray 


JERUSALEM    THE  GOLDEN.         263 

For  a  glimpse  of  thy  dear  Country 
That  lies  so  far  away  ! 

Jerusalem  the  Golden ! 

Methinks  each  flower  that  blows, 
•And  every  bird  a-singing 

Of  thee  some  secret  knows  ; 
I  know  not  what  the  Flowers 

Can  feel,  or  Singers  see, 
But  all  these  summer  raptures 

Seem  prophecies  of  thee. 

Jerusalem  the  Golden ! 

When  Sunset  's  in  the  West, 
It  seems  thy  gate  of  glory, 

Thou  City  of  the  Blest ! 
And  Midnight's  starry  torches 

Through  intermediate  gloom 
Are  waving  with  our  welcome 

To  thy  Eternal  Home  ! 

Jerusalem  the  Golden  ! 

Where  loftily  they  sing, 
O'er  pain  and  sorrows  olden, 

Forever  triumphing ; 
Lowly  may  be  the  portal 

And  dark  may  be  the  door, 
The  Mansion  is  Immortal  —  • 

God's  palace  for  His  Poor ! 


264      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

Jerusalem  the  Golden  ! 

There  all  our  Birds  that  flew,  — 
Our  Flowers  but  half  unfolden, 

Our  Pearls  that  turned  to  dew,  — 
And  all  the  glad  life-music, 

Now  heard  no  longer  here, 
Shall  come  again  to  greet  us 

As  we  are  drawing  near. 

Jerusalem  the  Golden ! 

I  toil  on,  day  by  day ; 
Heartsore  each  night  with  longing, 

I  stretch  my  hands  and  pray, 
That  'mid  thy  leaves  of  Healing,. 

My  soul  may  find  her  nest ; 
Where  the  Wicked  cease  from  troubling  • 

The  Weary  are  at  rest ! 


THE   ONLY   ONE. 

ITH  tired  feet,  o'er  thorny  ground, 

My  spirit  made  its  quest ; 
On  wearied  wing  it  wandered  round, 

But  could  not  find  its  nest ; 
Till  at  my  Saviour's  feet  I  found 
At  last  my  Only  Rest ! 


THE  ONLY  ONE.  26$ 

I  went  the  downward  way  of  Doom, 

With  those  that  walk  in  night ; 
I  stumbled  on  from  tomb  to  tomb 

Of  Joys  that  lured  my  sight ; 
Until  He  touched  me  through  the  gloom 

And  smiled  —  my  Only  Light ! 

All  gleams  of  glory,  shapes  of  grace, 

My  Saviour  shines  above  : 
He  sits  in  Heaven  for  brooding-place  . 

He  comes  down  like  a  Dove ! 
I  look  up  in  His  pitying  face 

And  know  my  Only  Love  !   • 

O,  sweet  the  touch  of  hearts,  and  sweet 

The  tie  of  Child  and  Wife  ! 
And  blessed  is  the  home  where  meet 

True  souls  that  shut  out  strife ; 
But  nestling  at  my  Saviour's  feet, 

I  know  the  Only  Life. 


266      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 


THE   NEST. 

BUILT  my  Nest  by  a  pleasant  stream, 
That  glided  on  with  a  smile  in  its  gleam, 
Bringing  me  gold  that  was  sum- 
less  ; 

Ah  me !  but  the  floods  came  drowning  one  day, 
And  swept  my  Nest  with  its  wealth  away  ; 
I  in  the  world  was  homeless  ! 


I  built  my  Nest  in  a  gay  green  tree, 
And  the  summer  of  life  went  merrily 

With  us  !  we  were  Birds  of  a  feather ! 
But  the  leaves  soon  fell,  and  my  pretty  ones  flew, 
And  through  my  Nest  the  bitter  winds  blew  ; 

'T  was  bare  in  the  wildest  weather. 

I  built  my  Nest  under  Heaven's  high  eaves  ; 
No  rising  of  floods,  no  falling  of  leaves, 

Can  mock  my  heart's  endeavor ; 
Waters  may  wash,  breezes  may  blow, 
In  the  bosom  of  Rest  I  shall  smile,  I  shall  know 

My  Nest  is  safe  forever. 


* 
POOR  MAWS  SUNDAY.  267 

POOR  MAN'S   SUNDAY. 

i]HE  merry  birds  are  singing, 

And  from  the  fragrant  sod 
The  Spirits  of  a  thousand  flowers 

Go  sweetly  up  to  God  ; 
While  in  His  holy  temple 

We  meet  to  praise  and  pray 
With  cheerful  voice,  and  grateful  heart, 
This  Summer  Sabbath  Day ! 

We  thank  thee,  Lord,  for  one  day 

To  look  Heaven  in  the  face  ! 
The  Poor  have  only  Sunday  j 

The  sweeter  is  the  grace. 
'T  is  then  they  make  the  music 

That  sings  their  week  away. 
O,  there  's  a  sweetness  infinite 

In  the  Poor  Man's  Sabbath  Day  ! 

'T  is  as  a  burst  of  sunshine, 

A  tender  fall  of  rain, 
That  set  the  barest  life  abloom ; 

Make  old  hearts  young  again. 
The  dry  and  dusty  roadside 

With  smiling  flowers  is  gay ; 
'T  is  open  Heaven  one  day  in  seven, 

The  Poor  Man's  Sabbath  Day  ! 


268      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

'T  is  here  the  weary  Pilgrim 

Doth  reach  his  House  of  Ease  ! 
That  blessed  House,  called  "  Beautiful," 

And  that  soft  Chamber,  "  Peace." 
The  River  of  Life  runs  through  his  dream 

And  the  leaves  of  Heaven  are  at  play ; 
He  sees  the  Golden  City  gleam, 

This  shining  Sabbath  Day ! 

Take  heart,  ye  faint  and  fearful, 

Your  cross  with  courage  bear ; 
So  many  a  face  now  tearful 

Shall  shine  in  glory  there ; 
Where  all  the  sorrow  is  banisht, 

The  tears  are  wiped  away  ; 
And  all  eternity  shall  be 

One  endless  Sabbath  Day  ! 

« 
Ah !  there  are  empty  places, 

Since  last  we  mingled  here  ! 
There  will  be  missing  faces 

When  we  meet  another  year ! 
But,  heart  to  heart,  before  we  part, 
-  Now  altogether  pray 
That  we  may  meet  in  Heaven,  to  spend 

The  Eternal  Sabbath  Day ! 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE   WORLD.      269 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  WORLD. 

r 

EHOLD  me  standing  at  the  door, 

And  hear  me  asking  o'er  and  o'er, 
With  pleading  voice  above  the  din, 
"  May  I  come  in  ?    May  I  come  in  ? 

I  fought  for  thee  with  Death's  grim  wave ; 
I  burst  his  dungeons  of  the  grave  ; 
I  would  my  rightful  guerdon  win, 
"  May  I  come  in  ?     May  I  come  in  ?  " 

Wearing  the  cruel  thorns  for  thee, 
I  listen  long  and  patiently, 
To  hear  the  footstep  from  within,    . 
"  May  I  come  in  ?     May  I  tome  in  ?, " 

Ye  dream  dark  dreams  alone  by  night, 
And  lo,  I  am  the  Living  Light, 
That  smiles  away  all  mists  of  sin. 
"  May  I  come  in  ?     May  I  come  in  ?  " 

• 

There  's  surely  room  upon  thy  breast 
For  one  more  loving  head  to  rest : 
One  empty  place  for  kith  and  kin. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?     May  I  come  in  ?  " 


270      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

I  would  not  have  thee  beat  iu  vain 
Our  Father's  door  and  plead  in  pain, 
When  Heaven  and  all  its  joys  begin. 
"  May  I  come  ifi  ?     May  I  come  in  ?  " 


GOING  TO  SCHOOL. 

N  Sunday  morning  early, 

While  yet  the  grass  is  pearly ; 
The  air  is  bright  and  cool ; 
All  clad  in  our  best  graces, 
With  rosy  morning  faces, 

We  go  to  the  Sunday  School ! 

To-day  is  Life  in  blossom  : 
Heartsease  in  every  bosom, 

And  all  is  beautiful. 
A  spirit  within  us  springing 
At  Heaven's  gate  will  be  singing 

Thanks  for  the  Sunday  School ! 

We  sun  us  in  its  brightness ; 
We  clothe  us  in  its  whiteness, 

As  doth  the  wayside  pool, 
That  holds  from  Morn  till  Even, 


GOING   TO  SCHOOL.  2ji 

Its  little  bit  of  Heaven  — 

The  gladsome  Sunday  School ! 

Here  learn  we  how  to  lighten 
The  heaviest  lot,  and  brighten 

The  day  most  dark  with  dale, 
And  lay  up  Childhood's  treasure, 
To  reap  immortal  pleasure 

Even  in  a  Sunday  School ! 

The  summer  Earth  rejoices, 
With  hers  we  lift  our  voices 

And  Heaven  blends  the  whole. 
And  when  God's  Angels  cover  us, 
Drawing  the  darkness  over  us, 

They  bless  the  Sunday  School ! 


272      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 


PAKENTS'  PRAYER   FOR    THE   CHIL- 
DREN. 


HRIST  on  Earth,  in  Heaven  the  King, 
As  we  heard  the  Children  sing : 
How  the  thought  within  us  smiled, 
Thou  wert  once  a  little  Child! 


Hover  near  them,  Heavenly  Dove, 
With  thine  overshadowing  love ; 
Keep  them  pure  and  undented*: 
Thou  wert  once  a  litde  Child ! 

See  them,  playing  on  the  sands, 
'Twixt  two  tides,  with  helpless  hands ; 
Save  them  when  the  waves  grow  wild : 
Thou  wert  once  a  little  Child ! 

Bless  them  in  their  joyousness ; 
Hear  them,  help  them,  in  distress; 
Be  their  Shepherd  when  beguiled ; 
Thou  wert  once  a  little  Child! 


Let  their  feet  be  firmly  shod ; 
Let  them  not  go  back  to  God 


CHILDREN'S  EVENING  PRATER.    273 

With  immortal  jewels  soiled  ; 
Thou  wert  once  a  little  Child! 


Take  them,  when  the  Peril 's  past, 
To  thy  Father's  Home  at  last ; 
He  remembers,  and  is  mild, 
Tliau  wert  once  a  little  Child  ! 


CHILDREN'S  EVENING  PRAYER. 

TRACIOUS  Saviour !  meekly  crave 

your 

Little  Lambs  their  fold  to-night ; 
Do  Thou  hear  ua,  and  be  near  us ; 
Through  the  darkness  lead  to  light : 
Fence  our  weakness  with  Thy  might ! 

Night  is  nearing !  timid,  fearing 

Life  is  shrinking  in  its  nest ; 
To  Thy  keeping  take  us  sleeping, 

Gentle  Shepherd,  in  Thy  breast, 

Where  we  nestle  and  are  blest ! 

Through  the  nightfall  may  Thy  Light  fall 
On  us,  safely  hid  apart, 
18 


274      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

When  no  change  or  passing  danger 
Clouds  us,  with  Thy  smile  at  heart. 
Where  the  lambs  are  there  Thou  art ! 

White  mists  wreathing  their  soft  breathing, 
Where  the  water-courses  run, 

From  their  hiding-place  are  gliding, 
Hanging  dew-drops,  one  by  one, 
To  be  lighted  by  the  sun  ! 

We  too  kneeling  for  Thy  healing, 
Pray  Thy  dews  may  fall  apace 

In  rich  showers,  that  Thy  Flowers 
May  uplift  their  morning  face, 
Glistening  with  Thy  freshest  grace. 

May  good  Angels  with  evangels 
Glad  our  slumbers  by  one  gleam 

Of  their  covering  white  wings,  hovering 
Down  the  ladder  of  our  dream  — 
Soft  the  hardest  pillow  will  seem  ! 

O  Thou  Solace  of  the  weary  ; 

O  Thou  Rest  for  all  that  roam ; 
Nightless  Sunshine  for  the  dreary  ; 

For  the  Homeless  endless  home ; 

To  Thy  waiting  arms  we  come  ! 


AND  THEY  SUNG  A  NEW  SONG.  275 


AND  THEY  SUNG  A  NEW  SONG. 

'  EAR  what  the  Saint  in  solemn  dream 

was  shown 
Through    Heaven's    own    Gates   of 

Gold; 
He  saw  them  standing  by  the  great  White  Throne ; 

He  heard  their  raptures  rolled  ! 
Christ  was  the  Sun  of  that  new  firmament, 

And  there  was  no  more  night, 
While  through  the  golden  City  harping  went 
The  glorious  all  in  white. 

These,  out  of  their  great  tribulation,  came 

To  bow  before  the  Throne  ! 
These  lifted  up  their  foreheads  from  the  flame 

And  by  His  name  were  known ! 
Some  on  the  rack  were  living  witnesses, 

And  many  fell  afield  ; 
But  Christ  did  greet  His  Martyrs  with  a  kiss, 

And  all  their  hurts  were  healed. 

These  had  to  wrestle  with  wild  waves  of  strife, 

Long  ere  they  reached  that  shore 
Where  they  at  last  have  won  the  crowns  of  life 

They  wear  forevermore. 


276      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

There  do  they  drink  of  Life's  all-healing  Stream, 

And  quench  their  thirst  of  years ; 
All  star-like  now  the  precious  jewels  gleam, 

They  sowed  on  Earth  as  tears. 

Help  us,  O  Lord,  to  reach  that  Better  Land, 

Afar  from  sorrow  and  sin, 
And  join  that  Blessed  band  all  harp-in-hand, 

All  safe  with  Christ  shut  in. 
Feeble  and  poor  the  songs  we  sing !  at  most, 

Some  selfish  Prayer  we  raise  ; 
While  the  white  Harpers  on  that  Heavenly  coast 

Hymn  everlasting  Praise. 


THE  ASPEN. 

WENT  out  into  the  wistful  night, 

Along  with  my  little  Daughter ; 
Down  in  the  valley  the  weird  Moon- 
light 
With  an  Elfin  shine  lit  the  wan  water. 

The  Trees  stood  dark  in  a  flame  ot  white ; 

A  Nightingale  sang  in  the  stillness ; 
It  seemed  the  husht  heart  of  the  sweet  spring  night 

Brimmed  over  because  of  its  fulness. 


THE  ASPEN.  277 

Not  a  breath  of  air  in  the  region  wide  ; 

Not  a  ripple  upon  the  river ; 
Yet  all  of  a  sudden  the  Aspens  sighed 

Arid  through  all  their  leaves  ran  a  shiver. 

My  darling  she  nestled  quite  close  to  me 

For  such  shield  as  mine  arms  could  give  her ; 

"  There  went  not  the  least  waft  of  wind  through  the 

Tree; 
Then  why  did  the  Aspens  shiver  ?  " 

I  told  her  the  tale,  how  by  Kedron's  Brook 
Our  Saviour  one  evening  wandered ; 

A  cloud  came  over  His  glorified  look 
As  he  paused  by  the  way  and  pondered. 

The  trees  felt  his  sighing  ;  their  heads  all  bowed 

Towards  Him  in  solemn  devotion, 
Save  the  Aspen,  that  stood  up  so  stately  and  proud ; 

It  made  neither  murmur  nor  motion. 

Then  the  Holy  One  lifted  His  face  of  pain  : 

"  The  Aspen  shall  quake  and  shiver, 
From  this  time  forth  till  I  come  again, 

Whether  growing  by  Brook  or  by  River." 

And  oft  in  the  listening  hush  of  night 
The  Aspen  will  secretly  shiver ; 


278      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

With  all  its  tremulous  leaves  turn  white, 
Like  a  guilty  thing  by  the  River. 

So  the  souls  that  look  on  His  sorrow  and  pain 
For  their  sake,  and  bow  not,  may  quiver 

Like  Aspens,  and  quake  when  He  comes  again, 
Through  the  night  forever,  forever  ! 


LEGEND    OF   THE   FLOWERS. 


HE  Seraph  faded  into  air ; 

The  Snake  glode  underground ; 
As  on  the  last  step  of  Heaven's  stair, 
Poor  exiled  Eve  lookt  round. 


Heartless  as  Death,  and  blind  as  Doom, 
The  heavens  bowed  with  wrath : 

Where  God,  betwixt  the  glare  and  gloom, 
Stood  in  their  backward  path. 

Two  mourners  following  the  hearse 

Of  their  dead  joy  went  forth, 
To  find  the  shadow  of  their  curse 

Fall  lengthening  over  earth. 


LEGEND    OF   THE  FLOWERS.       279 

The  memories  in  each  other's  eyes 

They  cannot,  dare  not  face ; 
Forlorn  and  vast  the  wide  world  lies  ; 

They  see  no  hiding-place. 

Then  did  the  Flowers  of  Eden  grieve ; 

As  though  a  low  wind  stirred, 
They  softly  prayed  to  follow  Eve; 

And  God  in  Heaven  heard. 

As  when  some  erring  Child  may  see, 

The  Father's  face  no  more ; 
A  Mother's  love  sends  secretly ; 

Her  heart  keeps  open  door ; 

So  were  the  Flowers  from  Paradise 

For  missioned  comfort  sent ; 
All  heaven  in  their  sweet  pitying  eyes ! 

And  where  Eve  trod  they  went. 

With  dear  drops  of  that  gladness  spilled 

In  Eden,  they  came  pearled ; 
Their  cups  with  color  of  Heaven  filled. 

To  pour  through  all  the  world. 

They  kiss  her  feet ;  embrace  her  knees ; 

About  her  dance  and  play ; 
They  run  before  and  climb  the  trees, 

To  cheer  her  by  the  way. 


280        HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

On  hills  and  moorlands  golden  fires 

Of  gorse  in  beauty  burn  ; 
Into  red  roses  break  the  briers ; 

A  flower  for  every  thorn. 

And  ever  since,  their  silent  march 

Goes  glowing  overground, 
And  under  Ocean's  azure  arch, 

In  an  immortal  round. 

The  wee  white  fairies  of  the  snow 

May  cover  them  awhile ; 
But  from  their  hiding-places,  lo ! 

The  world's  young  morning-smile ! 

They  come  back  with  their  fragrant  news, 
By  brook,  and  field,  and  fell ; 

They  wake,  and  in  a  thousand  hues 
Their  dream  of  beauty  tell. 

They  bring  the  distant  dearness  of 

That  dewy  Eden  youth, 
Into  the  kindling  nearness  of 

Warm  kisses  on  the  mouth. 

Our  thoughts  are  with  their  fancies  freakt, 

And  delicately  drawn ; 
With  them  our  gray  of  life  is  streakt, 

Divinely  as  the  dawn. 


LEGEND    OF   THE  FLOWERS.          28l 

And  ailing  souls  come  forth  to  see, 

How  the  sweet  Flowers  reveal 
The  waving  skirts  of  Deity, 

Which  at  a  touch  can  heal. 

Our  dying  eyes  their  balm  beseech ; 

Our  dying  fingers  fold 
Their  coolness,  when  we  cannot  reach 

The  flower ;  so  near  the  mould. 

Their  roots  like  feeling  fingers  twine, 

About  the  lone  grave-bed  : 
Stars  of  the  ground,  they  kindly  shine, 

Through  that  long  dark  o'  the  Dead. 

Incense,  pathetically  sweet, 

Their  little  censers  wave  — 
Standing  all  night  at  head  and  feet 

Of  our  wee  Sydney's  grave. 

With  mournful  fragrance  to  my  heart 

They  pierce  at  times,  until 
The  tears  up  in  mine  eyes  will  start, 

With  airs  of  heaven  athrill. 

Still  blooms  with  all  its  buried  charms, 

That  old  lost  land  of  ours ; 
Above  its  silent  war  of  worms, 

Earth  will  laugh  out  in  flowers. 


282      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 


LEGEND    OF   LITTLE   PEAEL. 


OOR  little  Pearl,  good  little  Pearl !  " 

Sighed  every  kindly  neighbor ; 
It  was  so  sad  to  see  a  girl 
So  tender,  doomed  to  labor. 


A  wee  bird  flattered  from  its  nest 
Too  soon,  was  that  meek  creature ; 

Just  fit  to  rest  in  mother's  breast, 
The  darling  of  fond  Nature. 

God  shield  poor  little  ones,  where  all 
Must  help  to  be  bread-bringers  ! 

For  once  afoot,  there  's  none  too  small 
To  ply  their  tiny  fingers. 

Poor  Pearl,  she  had  no  time  to  play 
The  merry  game  of  childhood ; 

From  dawn  to  dark  she  went  all  day, 
A-wooding  in  the  wild-wood. 

When  others  played,  she  stole  apart 
In  pale  and  shadowy  quiet  ; 

Too  full  of  care  was  her  child-heart 
For  laughter  running  riot. 


LEGEND   OF  LITTLE  PEARL.       283 

Hard  lot  for  such  a  tender  life, 

And  miserable  guerdon; 
But  like  a  womanly  wee  wife, 

She  bravely  bore  her  burden. 

One  wintry  day  they  wanted  wood 

When  need  was  at  the  sorest ; 
Wee  Pearl,  without  a  bit  of  food, 

Must  up  and  to  the  forest. 

But  there  she  sank  down  in  the  snow, 

All  over  numbed  and  aching  : 
Poor  little  Pearl,  she  cried  as  though 

Her  very  heart  was  breaking. 

The  blinding  snow  shut  out  the  house 

From  little  Pearl  so  weary  j 
The  lonesome  wind  among  the  boughs 

Moaned  with  its  warnings  eerie. 

To  little  Pearl  a  Child-Christ  came, 

With  footfall  light  as  fairy  ; 
He  took  her  hand,  he  called  her  name, 

The  voice  was  sweet  and  airy. 

His  gentle  eyes  filled  tenderly 

With  mystical  wet  brightness : 
"  And  would  you  like  to  come  with  me, 

And  wear  the  rol>e  of  whiteness  ?  " 


284      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

He  bore  her  bundle  to  the  door, 
,          Gave  her  a  flower  when  going : 
"  My  darling,  I  shall  come  once  more, 
When  the  little  bud  is  blovring." 

Home  very  wan  came  little  Pearl, 
But  on  her  face  strange  glory : 

They  only  thought,  "  What  ails  the  girl  ?  " 
And  laught  to  hear  her  story. 

Next  morning  mother  sought  her  child, 
And  clasped  it  to  her  bosom ; 

Poor  little  Pearl,  in  death  she  smiled, 
And  the  rose  was  full  in  blossom. 


POOR   ELLEN. 


IS  hard  to  die  in  Spring-time, 
When,  to  mock  my  bitter  need, 

All  life  around  runs  over 
In  its  fulness  without  heed  : 


New  life  for  tiniest  twig  on  tree, 
New  worlds  of  honey  for  the  bee, 
And  not  one  drop  of  dew  for  me 
Who  perish  as  I  plead. 


POOR   ELLEN.  285 

'T  is  hard  to  die  in  Spring-time, 

When  it  stirs  the  poorest  clod ; 
The  wee  Wren  lifts  its  little  heart 

In  lusty  songs  to  God ; 
And  Summer  comes  with  conquering  march ; 
Her  banners  waving  'neath  the  arch 
Of  heaven,  where  I  lie  and  parch — 

Left  dying  by  the  road. 

'T  is  hard  to  die  in  Spring-time, 

When  the  long  blue  days  unfold, 
And  cowslip-colored  sunsets 

Grow,  like  Heaven's  own  heart,  pure  gold  ! 
Each  breath  of  balm  brings  wave  on  wave 
Of  new  life  that  would  lift  and  lave 
My  Life,  whose  feel  is  of  the  grave, 

And  mingling  with  the  mould. 

But  sweet  to  die  in  Spring-time, 

When  these  lustres  of  the  sward, 
And  all  the  breaks  of  beauty 

Wherewith  Earth  is  daily  starred, 
For  me  are  but  the  outside  show, 
All  leading  to  the  inner  glow 
Of  that  strange  world  to  which  I  go  — 

Forever  with  the  Lord. 

O,  sweet  to  die  in  Spring-time, 
When  I  reach  the  promised  Best, 


286      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

And  feel  His  arm  is  round  me  — 
Know  I  sink  back  on  His  breast : 

His  kisses  close  these  poor  dim  eyes ; 

Soon  I  shall  hear  Him  say  "  Arise," 

And,  springing  up  with  glad  surprise, 
Shall  know  Him  and  be  blest. 

'T  is  sweet  to  die  in  Spring-time, 

For  I  fe81  my  golden  year 
Of  summer-time  eternal 

Is  beginning  even  here ! 
"  Poor  Ellen  !  "  now  you  say  and  sigh, 
"  Poor  Ellen  !  "  and  to-morrow  I 
Shall  say  "  Poor  Mother ! "  and,  from  the  sky, 

Watch  you,  and  wait  you  there. 


THE  SUNKEN  CITY. 

Y  day  it  lies  hidden  and  lurks  beneath 
The  ripples  that  laugh  with  light ; 
But  calmly  and  clearly  and  coldly  as 

death, 

It  glooms  into  shape  by  night 
When  none  but  the  awful  Heavens  and  me 
Can  look  on  the  City  that  's  sunk  in  the  sea. 


THE  SUNKEN  CITY.  287 

Many  a  Castle  I  built  in  the  air  j 

Towers  that  gleamed  in  the  sun  ; 
Spires  that  soared  so  stately  and  fair 

They  toucht  heaven  every  one, 
Lie  under  the  waters  that  mournfully 
Closed  over  the  City  that  'a  sunk  in  the  sea. 

Many  fine  houses,  but  never  a  home-; 

Windows,  and  no  live  face  ! 
Doors  set  wide  where  no  beating  hearts  come ; 

No  voice  is  heard  in  the  place  : 
It  sleeps  in  the  arms  of  Eternity  — 
The  silent  City  that 's  sunk  in  the  sea. 

There  the  face  of  a  dead  love  lies, 

Embalmed  in  the  bitterest  tears ; 
No  breath  on  the  lips !  no  smile  in  the  eyes, 

Though  you  watcht  for  years  and  years  : 
And  the  dear  drowned  eyes  never  close  from  me, 
Looking  up  from  the  City  that 's  sunk  in  the  sea. 

Two  of  the  bonniest  birds  of  God 

That  ever  warmed  human  heart 
For  a  nest,  till  they  fluttered  their  wings  abroad, 

Lie  in  their  chambers  apart  — 
Dead  !  yet  pleading  piteously 
In  the  lonesome  City  that 's  sunk  in  the  sea. 


288      HYMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

O,  the  brave  ventures  there  lying  in  wreck, 

Dark  on  that  shore  o'  the  Lost ! 
Gone  down,  with  every  hope  on  deck, 

When  all-sail  for  a  glorious  coast ! 
And  the  waves  go  sparkling  splendidly 
Over  the  City  that 's  sunk  in  the  sea. 

Then  I  look  from  my  City  that 's  sunk  in  the  sea 

To  that  Star-Chamber  o'erhead ; 
And  torturingly  they  question  me  — 

"  What  of  this  world  of  the  Dead 
That  lies  out  of  sight,  and  how  will  it  be 
With  the  City  and  thee,  when  there  's  no  more  sea  ?  " 


THE   LIFE   BEYOND. 

LTHOUGH  its  features  fade  in  light  of 

unimagined  bliss 

We  have  shadowy  revealings   of   the 
Better  World  in  this. 


A  little  glimpse,  when  Spring  unveils  her  face  and 

opes  her  eyes, 
Of  the  Sleeping  Beauty  in  the  soul  that  wakes  in 

Paradise. 


THE  LIFE  BEYOND.  289 

A  little  drop  of  Heaven  in  each  diamond  of  the 

shower, 
A  breath  of  the  Eternal  in  the  fragrance  of  each 

flower ! 

A  little  low  vibration  in  the  warble  of  Night's  bird, 
Of  the  praises  and  the  music  that  shall  be  hereafter 
heard! 

A  little  whisper  in  the  leaves  that  clap  their  hands 

and  try 
To  glad  the  heart  of  man,  and  lift  to  Heaven  his 

thankful  eye ! 

A  little  semblance  mirrored  in  old  Ocean's  smile 

or  frown 
Of  His  vast  glory  who  doth  bow  the  Heavens  and 

come  down ! 

A  little  symbol  shining  through  the  worlds  that 

move  at  rest 
On  invisible  foundations  of  the  broad  almighty 

breast ! 

A  little  hint  that  stirs  and  thrills  the  wings  we 

fold  within, 
And  tells  of  that  full  heaven  yonder  which  must 

here  begin ! 
19 


290      HYMNS,  AND    OTHER  LYRICS. 

A  little  springlet  welling  from  the  fountain-head 

above, 
That  takes  its  earthly  way  to  find  the  ocean  of  all 

love ! 

A  little  silver  shiver  in  the  ripple  of  the  river 
Caught  from  the  light  that  knows  no  night  forever 
and  forever ! 

A  little  hidden  likeness,  often  faded  and  defiled, 
Of  the  great,  the' good  All-father,  in  His  poorest 
human  child ! 

Although  the  best  be  lost  in  light  of  unimagined 

bliss, 
We  have  shadowy  revealings  of  the  Better  World 

in  this. 


IN   A   DREAM. 

HE  came  but  for  a-  little  while, 

Yet  with  a  wondrous  gleam  ! 

She  left  within  my  soul  her  smile, 

The  Darling  of  my  Dream ! 

O  face  too  clear  for  sorrow  or  tear, 
Too  real  for  masks  that  seem ; 


A    CRY  IN   THE  NIGHT.  291 

I  seek,  but  shall  not  find  you  Here, 
You  Darling  of  my  Dream ! 

I  wonder  do  you  wait  for  me 

Beside  the  glad  Life-Stream, 
Or  under  the  Leaf-of-Healing  tree  — 

You  Darling  of  my  Dream  ? 

O  sometimes  lift  your  veil  by  night, 

And  let  one  beauty-beam 
Fill  all  my  life  for  days  with  light, 

You  Darling  of  my  Dream  ! 


A   CRY  IN   THE  NIGHT. 

ARK,  dark  the  night,  and  tearfully  I 

grope, 
Lost  in  the  Shadows,  feeling  for  the 

way, 

But  cannot  find  it.     Here  's  no  help,  no  hope, 
And  God  is  very  far  off  with  His  day. 

Hush,  hush,  faint  heart !   why  this  may  be  thy 
chance, 

When  all  is  at  the  worst,  to  prove  thy  faith ; 
Stand  still,  and  see  His  great  Deliverance, 

And  trust  Him  at  the  darkest  unto  death. 


292      BTMNS,  AND   OTHER  LYRICS. 

Ofttimes  upon  the  last  grim  ridge  of  war 
God  takes  His  stand  to  aid  us  in  the  fight; 

He  watches  while  we  roll  the  tide  afar, 

And,  beaten  back,  is  near  us  with  His  might. 

We  hear  the  Arrows  in  the  dark  go  by  : 
The  cowering  soul  no  longer  soars  or  sings, 

Or  it  might  know  His  presence  then  most  nigh, 
Our  darkness  being  the  Shadow  of  His  wings. 

No  need  of  faith  if  aU  were  visibly  clear ! 

'T  is  for  the  trial-time  its  help  was  given  ; 
Though  clouds  be  thick,  the  Sun  is  just  as  near 

That  shines  within  and   makes   the   heart  its 
heaven. 

Amidst  our  wildest  night  of  saddest  woes, 

When  Earth  is  desolate  —  Heaven  dark  with 
doom, 

Faith  has  its  fire-flash  of  the  soul  that  shows 
The  face  of  the  Eternal  through  the  gloom. 


A  SONG  IN  THE  MORNING.        293 


A  SONG  IN  THE  MORNING. 


WAKE,  poor  Soul,  the  Shadows  flee, 

Dawn  kindles  in  the  sky, 
Lift  up  the  drooping  head,  and  see 
Redemption  draweth  nigh ! 


A  little  further  we  must  bear 
The  load,  and  do  our  best ; 

Then  take  immortal  solace  where 
The  Weary  are  at  rest. 

A  few  more  Meetings  on  the  Deep, 
And  partings  on  the  shore  ; 

And  then  in  Heaven  at  last  we  keep 
Our  tryst  forevermore. 

And  we  shall  see  the  lifted  head 
Once  bowed  to  show  His  face ; 

And  feel  the  arms  in  death  He  spread 
Close  round  us  in  embrace  ! 

The  Devil,  standing  in  our  light, 
And  darkening  all  our  day, 

Shall  wave  his  wings  for  final  flight, 
His  shadow  pass  away. 


294      HYMNS,  AND    OTHER  LYRICS. 

Our  Pilgrimage  will  soon  be  past, 
Our  worst  afflictions  borne  ; 

Some  weary  Night,  't  will  be  our  last, 
And  then  Eternal  Morn. 


HIS  BANNER  OVER  ME. 

URROUNDED  by  unnumbered  Foes, 
Against  my  soul  the  battle  goes  ! 
Yet  though  I  weary,  sore  distressed, 
I  know  that  I  shall  reach  my  Rest  : 

I  lift  my  tearful  eyes  above,  — 

His  Banner  over  me  is  Love. 

Its  Sword  my  spirit  will  not  yield, 
Though  flesh  may  faint  upon  the  field  ; 
He  waves  before  my  fading  sight 
The  branch  of  palm  —  the  crown  of  light ; 

I  lift  my  brightening  eyes  above,  — 

His  Banner  over  me  is  Love. 

My  cloud  of  battle-dust  may  dim  ; 
His  veil  of  splendor  curtain  Him  ! 
And  in  the  midnight  of  my  fear 
I  may  not  feel  Him  standing  near : 

But,  as  I  lift  mine  eyes  above, 

His  Banner  over  me  is  Love. 


THE  TWO  HEAVENS.  295 


THE  TWO  HEAVENS. 

HERE  are  two  Heavens  for  natures  clear 
And  calm  as  thine,  my  gentle  Love  ! 

One  Heaven  but  reflected  here  ; 
One  Heaven  that  waits  above  : 


As  yonder  Lake,  in  Evening's  red, 
Lies  smiling  with  the  smile  of  Rest ; 

One  Heaven  glowing  overhead ; 
One  mirrored  in  its  breast. 


HOW  IT  SEEMS. 

TARS  in  the  Midnight's  blue  abyss 
So  closely  shine  they  seem  to  kiss ; 
But,  Darling,  they  are  far  apart ; 
They  close  not  beating  heart  to  heart ; 


And  high  in  glory  many  a  Star 
Glows,  lighting  other  worlds  afar, 
Whilst  hiding  in  its  breast  the  dearth 
And  darkness  of  a  fireless  hearth. 


296      HYMNS,  AND    OTHER  LYRICS. 

All  happy  to  the  listener  seems 
The  Singer,  with  his  gracious  gleams  ; 
His  music  rings,  his  ardors  glow 
Divinely :  ah,  we  know,  we  know ! 

For  all  the  beauty  he  sheds,  we  see 
How  bare  his  own  poor  life  may  be ; 
He  gives  ambrosia,  wanting  bread ; 
Makes  balm  for  Hearts,  with  ache  of  head. 

He  finds  the  Laurel  budding  yet, 
From  Love  transfigured  and  tear-wet ; 
They  are  his  life-drops  turned  to  Flowers 
That  make  so  sweet  this  world  of  ours  ! 


ALBERT  THE   GOOD. 

OME  two-and-twenty  golden  years  ago, 
A  noble  Wooer  to  our  England  came ; 
To-day,  he  has  won  her,  lying  pale  and 

low. 
Albert  the  Good  we  write  his  royal  name. 

The  Power  that  sits  enthroned  by  open  graves 
Hath  risen  to  rule  the  air.    His  death-bell  tolls, 

And  rolls  upon  us  in  dull  heavy  waves, 
Sepulchral  shadows  over  living  souls. 

On  every  burdened  wind  the  sound  is  borne, 
Invisibly  swift  the  sparks  electric  slide ; 

Till,  under  archways  of  full  many  a  morn, 
The  gloom  of  our  great  loss  will  visibly  glide. 

The  meanest  doorway  darkens  at  this  cloud, 
The  poorest  poor  have  lost  a  personal  friend ; 

Down  to  one  level  are  the  loftiest  bowed ; 
In  the  large  clasp  of  nature  all  hearts  blend. 


298  ALBERT  THE  GOOD. 

The  gush  of  gladness  in  our  eyes  is  dimmed  ; 
Christmas  hath  lost  its  glow  of  merry  heart- 
shine  ; 
The  Wassail-cup   will   pass    as   though  't   were 

brimmed 
With  the  red,  solemn,  sacramental  wine, 

And  dark  in  His  extinguished  light  we  stand. 

In  every  face  we  read  how  much  bereft ! 
A  sterner  pressure  of  the  grasping  hand 

Tells  of  our  loss,  and  clings  to  what  is  left. 

For  he  was  one  of  those  we  never  know 

Till  they  have  left  us,  nor  how  great  the  love 

We  bore  them  ;  they  are  all  too  meek  to  show 
Their  dearness,  till  they  stand  our  praise  above. 

How  should  we  mirror  truly  when  a  breath 
Set  all  the  surface  in  a  blurring  strife  ? 

We  are  calmer  now !  —  touched  by  the  hand  of 

Death ! 
To  hold  the  lustrous  image  of  his  life. 

We  met  him  coldly,  and  on  looking  back 
See  all  our  dimness  by  his  kindling  glow ; 

The  mist  we  breathed  hath  served  to  mark  his 

track. 
And  make  a  starrier  halo  for  his  brow. 


ALBERT   THE   GOOD.  299 

At  last  our  clouds  of  earth  are  cleared  away  ! 

Albert  the  Good  goes  patiently  to  God  ; 
Smiling  back  to  us  with  his  frank  blue  day, 

Leaving  us  shining  footprints  where  he  trod. 

We  know  that  when  our  mortal  work  is  done, 
Few  to  the  Master's  keeping  will  return 

A  fairer  copy  of  the  life  His  Son 

Once  left  us,  or  a  warmer  "  well  done  "  earn. 

Down  goes  the  scaffolding,  the  work  is  crowned  ; 

Much  that  was  hidden  from  us  may  be  read, 
And  for  the  first  time  we  can  look  all  round 

The  Statue  of  his  life  now  perfected. 

The  Flower  of  Chivalry  upon  the  height, 
As  featly  could  he  bend  to  lowliest  place ; 

With  something  in  his  presence  of  the  light 
That  sweetly  shone  in  Philip  Sidney's  face. 

His  natural  kingliness  made  crowns  look  wan, 
Whom  God  had  set  amongst  the  Lords  of  Earth, 

To  show  them  how  the  majesty  of  Man 

May  shine  above  the  starriest  badge  of  Birth. 

He  held  forever  hallowed  the  dear  breasts 

Where  nestling  Love  and  its  sweet  babes  had 
lain; 


300  ALBERT  THE  GOOD. 

Forever  sacred  kept  Home's  secret  nest 
Of  purest  pleasure  and  of  proudest  pain. 

A  calm,  high  life,  crowned  with  a  quiet  death ! 

His  robe  of  pain  around  him  folding,  he 
Was  not  the  man  to  waste  his  dying  breath ; 

Who  nobly  lives,  can  die  with  dignity. 

The  gentle  spirit  did  not  wish  to  hear 

The  women  moaning  through  the  house  for  him, 

But  only  sought  to  feel  its  darlings  near 

Enough  to  bless  them  when  't  was  getting  dim  ! 

No  need  of  courtly  lies  for  comforting ; 

For  he  can  face  the  truth,  though  stern  and  wild : 
Through  spiritual  rehearsal,  he  can  wring 

The  victory  !  and  his  soul  within  him  smiled. 

And  't  is  not  near  so  hard  for  one  to  bow 
And  enter  the  dark  doorway  of  the  Tomb, 

Who  has  learnt  to  meet  Death  kneeling  with  bent 

brow ; 
Whose  inner  light  can  pierce  that  inner  gloom. 

And  while  in  sorrow  here  we  dimly  sit, 
We  lift  the  head,  to  ease  an  aching  breast, 

And,  looking  up,  behold  the  Stars  are  lit ; 
And  there  's  another  in  the  realms  of  Eest. 


ALBERT  THE  GOOD.  301 

Rest,  happy  soul,  in  thy  salvation  deep ; 

The  top  of  life,  and  endless  day  for  thee; 
While  in  the  valleys  here  we  sit  and  weep 

Among  the  shadows  of  Eternity. 

We  can  but  kneel,  and  grope,  and  kiss  His  feet 
Who  takes  thee  to  His  infinite  embrace ; 

We  feel  transfigured  if  our  touch  may  meet 
His  garment's  hem ;  but  thou  behold'st  His  face. 

Poor  widowed  Queen  !  we  see  her  as  she  trod 
The  Aisle  where  Music's  mellow  thunders  rolled, 

And  Heaven  opened,  and  the  smile  of  God 

In  sunbeams  crowned  her  head  with  saintly  gold. 

And  how  we  listened  —  knowing  she  was  blest  — 
To  the  proud  murmurs  of  the  brooding  dove ; 

Home-pleasures  round  the  royal  Mother  pressed, 
And  God  gave  many  voices  to  her  love. 

And  now  the  cloud  of  this  calamity 

Darkens  the  crown  we  set  on  her  young  brow : 
Ah,  look  up  to  the  side  next  Heaven,  and  see 

'T  is  God  Himself  that  crowns  our  lady  now  ! 

With  all  hearts  aching  for  the  folded  face, 

We  can  but  grasp  His  hand  in  prayer  for  her ! 

So  lonely  in  her  desolate,  high  place ; 

And  leave  her  with  the  Eternal  Comforter. 


302  ALBERT   THE  GOOD. 

Though  two  be  parted  in  that  shadow  drear, 
Where  one  must  walk  alone,  yet  is  it  given 

For  the  dear  blessed  spirit  to  be  near  ; 

The  human  vision  with  the  voice  in  Heaven. 

It  is  my  faith  they  friend  us  in  our  need  ; 

With  tender  chords  they  draw  us  where  they 

move ; 
And  often  at  the  noon  of  night  they  feed 

With  dews  of  Heaven  the  lilies  of  their  love. 

Warm  whispers  will  come  stealing  like  a  glow 
Of  God,  to  kiss  the  spirit's  sealed  eyes 

Till  they  be  opened,  and  true  love  doth  know 
Its  Marriage  Garden  blooms  in  Paradise. 

Here  hearts  may  beat  so  close  that  two  lives  make 
Only  one  shadow  in  the  sun  we  see, 

But,  in  the  light  we  see  not,  these  shall  wake 
One  angel  —  wedded  for  eternity. 

This  morning  shall  be  made  majestic  mirth ; 

This  grief  shall  be  a  glory  otherwhere ; 
The  music  that  we  hear  no  more  on  earth 

Will  help  to  make  up  Heaven  when  we  are  there. 

The  sap  is  swarth  and  bitter  in  the.  bark, 
That  sweetens  in  the  sunny  fruit  above, 


ALBERT  THE  GOOD.  303 

And  spirits  yearning  upward  through  the  dark 
Shall  reach  and  summer  in  their  light  of  love. 

And  Thou,  young  Prince,  whose  Pilot  saw  thee 
tide 

Safe  o'er  the  reefs  heyond  the  harbor-bar, 
Then  left  thee  —  beaconing  o'er  the  waters  wide, 

This  Star  of  Morn  shall  rise,  thine  Evening  Star. 

May  thy  life  flourish,  ripen  hour  by  hour, 

And  heavenward  draw  the  virtues  of  thy  root ; 

Our  eyes  have  seen  the  beauty  of  the  flower, 
Do  thou  unfold  the  glory  of  the  fruit. 

We  build  his  Monument,  but  men  may  see 
His  steady  lustre  live  in  thee  and  thine  ; 

And  thou  mayest  bear,  to  Empires  yet  to  be, 
The  goodness  and  the  glory  of  thy  line. 

Think  of  the  dear  face  dark  beneath  the  mould, 
And  be  thou  to  us  what  he  would  have  been  ; 

So  shall  the  secret  springs  of  sorrow  old 
Give  to  thy  future  paths  a  gladder  green. 

This  is  a  waiting  hour  of  wonder  for 

A  world ;  our  England  looks  across  her  waves ! 
Will  the  Dove  seek  her  bosom,  or  red  War, 

Whose  footprints  tread  deep  pits  for  gory  graves  1 


304  ALBERT  THE  GOOD. 

Is  it  the  kiss  of  Peace  and  Righteousness, 

That    softly    thrills    the   husht,    grim    silence 
through, 

Or  Battle's  bugle-cry  that  makes  us  press 
All  sail  —  send  up  our  brave  old  bit  of  blue  ? 

We  know  not.     But,  if  foot  to  foot  we  stand, 
On  slippery  boarding-plank,  or  ruddied  sward, 

'T  will  be  the  sturdier  stroke  for  our  dear  Land 
That  holds  another  grave  like  this  to  guard. 

And  all  is  well  that  makes  a  People  one, 

Even  though  the  meeting-place  be  Albert's  tomb : 

We  gather  grapes  of  joy  up  in  the  sun, 
But  our  best  wine  must  ripen  in  the  gloom. 

Many  true  hearts  have  mouldered  down  to  enrich 
The  roots  of  England's  greatness  underground ; 

Until,  below,  as  wide  and  strong  they  stretch, 
As  overhead  the  branches  reach  around. 

And  so  our  England's  glory  ever  grows, 
And  so  her  stature  rises  ever  higher, 

Until  the  faces  of  her  farthest  foes 

Darken  with  envy,  overshadowed  by  her. 

So  climb  the  heavens,  Old  Tree,  until  the  gold 
Stars  glisten  as  thy  fruitage  —  heave  thy  breast 

And  broaden  till  the  fiercest  storms  shall  fold 
Their  wings  within  thy  shelter  and  find  rest. 


COUSIN  WINNIE. 


j|HE  glad  spring-green  grows  luminous, 

With  coming  Summer's  golden  glow; 
Merry  Birds  sing  as  they  sang  to  us 

In  far-off  seasons,  long  ago : 
The  old  place  brings  the  young  Dawn  back, 

That  moist  eyes  mirage  in  their  dew ; 
My  heart  goes  forth  along  the  track 

Where  oft  it  danced,  dear  Winnie,  with  you. 
A  world  of  Time,  a  sea  of  change, 

Have  rolled  between  the  paths  we  tread, 
Since  you  were  my  "Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 
Was-  your  "own  little,  good  little  Ned." 

There  's  where  I  nearly  broke  my  neck, 

Climbing  for  nests !  and  hid  my  pain  : 
And  then  I  thought  your  heart  would  break, 

To  have  the  Birds  put  back  again. 
Yonder,  with  lordliest  tenderness, 

I  carried  you  across  the  Brook ; 
So  happy  in  my  arms  to  press 

You,  triumphing  in  your  timid  look  : 
20 


306  COUSIN   WINNIE. 

So  lovingly  you  leaned  to  mine 

Your  cheek  of  sweet  and  dusky  red  : 

You  were  my  "Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 
Was  your  "  own  little,  good  little  Ned." 

My  Being  in  your  presence  basked, 

And  kitten-like  for  pleasure  purred ; 
A  higher  heaven  I  never  asked, 

Than  watching,  wistful  as  a  bird, 
To  hear  that  voice  so  rich  and  low ; 

Or  sun  me  in  the  rosy  rise 
Of  some  soul-ripening  smile,  and  know 

The  thrill  of  opening  paradise. 
The  Boy  might  look  too  tenderly, 

All  lightly  't  was  interpreted  : 
You  were  my  "Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 

Was  your  "  own  little,  good  little  N?d." 

Ay  me,  but  I  remember  how 

I  felt  the  heart-break,  bitterly, 
When  the  Well-handle  smote  your  brow, 

Because  the  blow  fell  not  on  me  ! 
Such  holy  longing  filled  my  life, 

I  could  have  died,  Dear,  for  your  sake ; 
But,  never  thought  of  you  as  Wife ; 

A  cure  to  clasp  for  love's  heart-ache. 
You  entered  my  soul's  temple,  Dear, 

Something  to  worship,  not  to  wed : 


COUSIN   WINNIE.  307 

You  were  my  "  Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 
Was  your  "  ovm  little,  good  little  Ned." 

I  saw  you,  heaven  on  heaven  higher, 

Grow  into  stately  womanhood ; 
Your  beauty  kindling  with  the  fire 

That  swims  in  proud  old  English  blood. 
Away  from  me,  —  a  radiant  Joy  ! 

You  soared  ;  fit  for  a  Hero's  bride : 
While  I  a  Man  in  soul,  a  Boy 

In  stature,  shivered  at  your  side ! 
You  saw  not  how  the  poor  wee  Love 

Pined  dumbly,  and  thus  doubly  pled  : 
You  were  my  "  Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 

Was  your  "  own  little,  good  little  Ned." 

And  then  that  other  voice  came  in  ! 

There  my  Life's  music  suddenly  stopped. 
Silence  and  darkness  fell  between 

Us,  and  my  Star  from  heaven  dropped. 
I  led  Him  by  the  hand  to  you  — 

He  was  my  Friend  —  whose  name  you  bear : 
I  had  prayed  for  some  great  task  to  do, 

To  prove  my  love.     I  did  it,  Dear  ! 
He  was  not  jealous  of  poor  me ; 

Nor  saw  my  life  bleed  under  his  tread : 
You  were  my  "  Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 

Was  your  "ovm  little,  good  little  Ned." 


3o8  COUSIN   WINNIE.      . 

I  smiled,  Dear,  at  your  happiness  — 

So  Martyrs  smile  upon  the  spears  — 
The  smile  of  your  reflected  bliss 

Flasht  from  my  heart's  dark  tarn  of  tears  ! 
In  love,  that  made  the  suffering  sweet, 

My  blessing  with  the  rest  was  given  — 
"  God's  softest  flowers  kiss  her  feet 

On  Earth,  and  crown  Her  liead  in  Heaven." 
And  lest  the  heart  should  leap  to  tell 

Its  tale  i'  the  eyes,  I  bowed  the  head : 
You  were  my  "  Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 

Was  your  "  own  little,  good  little  Ned." 

I  do  not  blame  you,  Darling  mine  ; 

You  could  jiot  know  the  love  that  lurkt 
To  make  my  life  so  intertwine 

With  yours,  and  with  mute  mystery  workt. 
And,  had  you  known,  how  distantly 

Your  calm  eyes  would  have  lookt  it  down, 
Darkling  with  all  the  majesty 

Of  Midnight  wearing  her  star-crown ! 
Into  its  virgin  veil  of  cloud, 

The  startled  dearness  would  have  fled. 
You  were  my  "  Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 
•  Was  your  "  own  little,  good  little  Ned." 

I  stretch  my  hand  across  the  years  ; 
Feel,  Dear,  the  heart  still  pulses  true : 


*       COUSIN   WINNIE.  309 

I  have  often  dropped  internal  tears, 

Thinking  the  kindest  thoughts  of  you. 
I  have  fought  like  one  in  iron,  they  said, 

Who  through  the  battle  followed  me. 
I  struck  the  blows  for  you,  and  bled 

Within  my  armor  secretly. 
Not  caring  for  the  cheers,  my  heart 

Far  into  the  golden  time  had  fled  : 
You  were  my  "  Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 

Was  your  "  own  little,  good  little  Ned." 

I  sometimes  see  you  in  my  dreams, 

Asking  for  aid  I  may  not  give  : 
Down  from  your  eyes  the  sorrow  streams, 

And  helplessly  I  look  and  grieve 
At  arms  that  toss  with  wild  heartache, 

And  secrets  writhing  to  be  told  : 
I  start  to  hear  your  voice,  and  wake. 

There  Js  nothing  but  the  moaning  cold  ! 
Sometimes  I  pillow  in  mine  arms 

The  darling  little  rosy  head. 
You  are  my  "  Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 

Am  your  "  own  little,  good  little  Ned." 

I  wear  the  name  of  Hero  now, 

And  flowers  at  my  feet  are  cast ; 
I  feel  the  crown  about  my  brow  — 

So  keen  the  thorns  that  hold  it  fast  1 


310  COUSIN   WINNIE. 

Ay  me,  and  I  would  rather  wear 

The  cooling  green  and  luminous  glow 
Of  one  you  made  with  Cowslips,  Dear, 

A  many  golden  Springs  ago. 
Your  gentle  fingers  did  not  give 

This  ache  of  heart,  this  throb  of  head, 
When  you  were  my  "  Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 

Was  your  "  own  little,  good  little  Ned." 

Unwearying,  lonely,  year  by  year, 

I  go  on  laying  up  my  love. 
I  think  God  makes  no  promise  here 

But  it  shall  be  fulfilled  above  ; 
I  think  my  wild  weed  of  the  waste 

Will  one  day  prove  a  flower  most  sweet ; 
My  love  shall  bear  its  fruit  at  last  — 

'T  will  all  be  righted  when  we  meet ; 
And  I  shall  find  them  gathered  up 

In  pearls  for  you  —  the  tears  I  've  shed 
Since  you  were  my  "  Cousin  Winnie,"  and  I 

Was  your  "  own  little,  good  little  Ned." 


A  WINTER'S  TALE  FOR  THE  LITTLE 
ONES. 


MERRY  sound  of  clapping  bauds, 

A  call  to  see  the  sight ; 
And  lo !  the  first  soft  snow-flakes  fall, 
So  exquisitely  virginal. 
'T  is  my  wee  Nell  at  window  stands, 

And  the  world  is  all  in  white. 
• 
Her  eyes,  where  dawns  my  bluest  Day, 

Dance  with  the  dancing  snow ! 
I  see  delicious  shivers  thrill 
Her  through  and  through.     She  feels  the  chill 
Of  Earth  so  white,  and  skies  so  gray 
Enrich  our  fireside  glow. 

"  No  Winters  now,  my  little  Maid, 

Like  those  that  used  to  come, 
Making  our  Christmas  sparkle,  bright 
As  crystallized  plum-cake  at  night, 
And  Frost  his  Puck-like  trickeries  played, 

With  fancies  frolicsome. 


312  A    WINTERS   TALE. 

"  He  fixed  your  breath  in  flowers,  the  Trees 

To  Chandeliers  would  turn  : 
He  pincht  your  toes,  he  nipped  your  nose, 
And  made  your  cheek  a  wrinkled  Rose  : 
Perhaps  at  night  you  heard  him  sneeze, 

And  the  Jug  was  crackt  at  morn  ! 

"  The  Snow-Storms  were  magnificent ! 

And  in  the  clear,  still  weather 
Against  the  bitter  wintry  blue 
And  Sunset's  orange-tawny  hue 
You  saw  the  smoke  straight  upward  went, 

For  weeks  and  weeks  together. 

"  At  night  the  Waits  mixt  with  our  drwm 

Their  music  sweet  and  low : 
We  children  knew  not  as  we  heard, 
Each,  listening,  nestled  like  a  Bird, 
Whether  from  Heaven  the  music  came, 

Or  only  over  the  snow  ! 

"  No  winters  nowadays  like  those." 

And  then  my  darling  tries 
To  coax  me  for  a  "  tale  that 's  true  : 
A  story  that  is  new  —  quite  new." 
And  up  the  arch  of  wonder  goes, 

Above  the  frank,  blue  eyes  1 


FOR  THE  LITTLE  ONES.  313 

"  Once  on  a  time  "  —  "  Do  tell  me  when, 
And  where  ?  "  says  my  wee  Nell  — 

"  When  Christmas  came  on  Thursday  —  now, 

Some  five-and-thirty  years  ago! 

Superbly  we  were  snowed-up  then, 
Who  lived  in  Ingle  Dell. 

"  His  icy  Drawbridge  Winter  dropped ; 

The  running  springs  he  froze; 
The  Roads  were  lost ;  the  hedges  crossed  ; 
All  field-work  ceased  through  the  '  Long  Frost.' 
But  there  ivas  one  thing  never  stopped  — 

That  was  Grandmother's  nose  I 

"  The  snow  might  fall  by  day,  by  night, 

The  weather  grow  more  rough, 
And  up  to  our  bedroom  windows  heap 
The  drift,  and  smother  men  like  sheep, 
And  wrap  the  world  in  a  shroud  of  white  — 

Old  Gran  must  have  her  snuff"  t 

"  So,  Uncle  Willie,  then  a  lad 

Not  more  than  nine  years  old, 
Upon  the  Christmas  morn  must  go 
And  fetch  her  snuff,  and  face  the  Snow, 
Which  surely  had  gone  dancing  mad, 

And  wrestle  with  the  cold. 


314  -A    WINTER'S   TALE. 

"  Wrapt  in  his  crimson  Comforter, 

His  basket  on  his  arm, 
He  started.     Mother  followed  him 
With  her  proud  eyes  so  dewy-dim ; 
While  kisses  from  the  heart  of  her 

Within  his  heart  were  warm. 


"  How  gentle  is  the  gracious  Snow, 
When  first  you  watch  her  dance ; 
Her  feathery  flutter,  winding  whorls; 
Her  finish  perfect  as  the  pearl's ; 
She  looks  you  in  the  face  as  though 
'T  were  unveiled  Innocence. 

"  But  now,  't  is  wild  upon  the  waste, 

And  winged  upon  the  wind  : 
You  see,  just  passing  out  of  sight, 
The  Ghost  of  things  in  a  swirl  of  white  I  — 
The.  Storm  unwinkingly  he  faced, 

Though  it  snowed  enough  to  blind. 

"  Fire-pointed,  stinging,  strikes  and  burns 

To  the  bone,  each  icy  dart. 
He  stumbles  — falls  —  is  up  again, 
And  onward  for  the  Town  a-strain; 
Backward  our  Willie  never  turns, 

And  never  loses  heart. 


FOR   THE  LITTLE   ONES.  315 

"  He  looks  a  weird  and  wintry  Elf 

With  face  in  ruddy  glow  : 
And  all  his  curls  are  straightened  out, 
Hanging  in  Icicles  about 
A  sparkling  statue  of  himself, 

Shaped  out  of  frozen  snow. 

"  He  still  fought  on,  for  though  the  Storm 

Might  bend  him,  he  was  tough ; 
And  when  the  Blast  would  take  his  breath, 
With  kisses  like  the  kiss  of  death, 
One  thought  still  kept  his  courage  warm — 

It  was  Grandmother's  Snuff"! 

"  At  length  with  many  a  danger  passed, 

Unboding  any  to  come, 

He  has  got  the  Snuff".     Far  more  than  food, 
Or  wine,  't  will  warm  her  poor  old  blood. 
He  has  it  safe  at  last,  at  last ! 

And  sets  his  face  for  Home. 

"  He  has  the  Snuff";  but  it  were  well 

If  Granny  had  it  too  ! 
For  early  closes  such  a  day, 
And  wild  and  dreary  is  the  way  ; 
If  dark  before  he  reach  the  Dell, 

What  can  poor  Willie  do  ? 


3l6  A    WINTERS   TALE. 

"  Within  the  Town  the  blast  is  husht; 

The  snow-flakes  from  you  melt  : 
But  out  upon  the  pathless  moor, 
The  storm  grows  wilder  than  before  ; 
And  at  him  all  its  furies  rusht, 

Till  he  faint  and  fainter  felt. 

"  His  thoughts  are  whirling  with  the  Snow  : 

His  eyes  wax  dizzy  and  dim  ! 
And  on  the  path,  'twixt  him  and  night, 
Now  dancing  left,  now  dancing  right, 
It  seems  a  white  Witch-  Woman  doth  go, 

With  white  hand  beckoning  him  ! 

"  To  the  last  stile  he  clung  —  maybe 

A  furlong  from  our  door  ; 
Then  missed  his  footing  on  the  plank, 

And  deep  into  the  snow-drift  sank. 
0,  my  beloved  Willie,  we 

Shall  never  see  you  more  ! 

"  Ah,  they  looked  long  and  wistfully 

Who  waiting  sat  at  home : 

They  strained  their  eyes  through  the  deepening  dark, 
At  every  sound  they  leaned  to  hark ; 
And  wondered  where  could  Willie  be, 
And  when  would  Willie  come  f 


FOR   THE  LITTLE   ONES. 

"  Through  all  that  night  of  wild  affright 

They  searched  the  road  to  Town  ; 
They  called  him  high,  they  called  him  low, 
They  mocked  each  other  through  the  snow, 
And  all  the  night,  by  lanthorn  light, 
They  wandered  up  and  down. 

"  They  sought  him  where  the  waters  plash 

Darkly  by  Deadman's  Cave  ! 
They  sought  him  at  the  Rag-Pit,  near 
The  Mill,  and  by  the  lonesome  Weir; 
At  the  Cross-Roads  where  '  Harry's  Ash  ' 

Grows  from  the  Suicide's  Grave. 

"  In  Ingle  Dell  they  locked  no  door, 

Put  out  no  light.     At  such 
A  time  you  cling  to  a  little  thing 
That  's  done  for  neighborly  comforting  ! 
Old  Gran  thought  she  'd  take  snuff  no  more, 

And  she  took  thrice  as  much. 

"  All  night  the  Snow  with  fingers  so/I 

Kept  pointing  to  the  ground. 
Only  too  well  they  knew  't  was  there  ; 
But  had  no  hint  to  guide  them  where! 
And  he  so  near.     They  passed  him  oft, 

Close  by  his  white  grave-mound. 


317 


318  A    WINTERS   TALE. 

"  And  did  he  die  ?  "  cries  little  Nell. 

"No,  he  was  nestled  warm. 
It  seemed  the  white  arm  round  him  curled 
And  caught  him  in  another  world : 
What  other  world  he  could  not  tell, 

But,  out  of  all  the  storm. 


"  And  all  was  changed  too  suddenly 

For  him  to  know  the  place, 
lie  swooned  awhile,  and  when  he  woke 
A  liglitning  from  his  darkness  broke. 
Alone  with  the  Eternal  he 

Was  standing  face  to  face  I 

"  There  in  his  grave  alive,  he  knew 

He  stood,  or  sat  upright ! 
With  burning  brain,  and  freezing  feet. 
And  he  so  young,  and  life  so  sweet  I 
And,  bitter  thought !  what  would  Gran  do 
Without  her  snuff  that  night  ? 

"  A  long,  long  night  of  sixty  hours 

Did  Willie  pass.     I  know 
Not  how  he  lived.     But  Heaven  can  hold 
A  life  as  safe  as  Earth  can  fold 
Her  hidden  life  of  fruit  and  flowers, 

Through  her  long  trance  of  snow. 


FOR   TEE  LITTLE   ONES.  319 

"  'T  is  Sabbath  day.     How  quietly  gleams 

That  snow-drift  o'er  Mm  driven  ! 
The  winds  are  softly  laid  asleep, 
In  their  white  snow-bed  covered  deep. 
The  white  Clouds  all  so  still !  it  seems 

Like  Sunday  up  in  Heaven  ! 

"  The  Country-folk  are  passing  near 

His  tomb  —  no  tale  it  tells  — 
Old  Ploughmen  in  their  white  smockfrocks, 
Old  Women  in  long  scarlet  cloaks, 
And  Lad  and  Lass,  —  when  on  his  ear 

There  faints  a  sound  of  Bells  ! 

"  And,  looking  up,  a  tiny  hole 

Was  meltfd  with  his  breath  ; 
Wherethrough  a  bit  of  God's  blue  sky 
Was  smiling  on  him  like  an  Eye ; 
A  living  eye  with  a  loving  soul 

Shone  in  that  face  of  death! 

"  0  joy !     He  shouted  from  his  grave, 

And  finding  room  to  stir, 
He  tooth  and  nail  began  to  climb  ; 
He  dutcht  the  top  o'  the  bank  this  time ; 
Thrust  his  hand  through  the  snow  to  wave 

His  good  old  Comforter  t 


320  -A    WINTER'S   TALE. 

"'I'm  here  !'  'It's  me!'  His  flag  they  see, 

And  know  lost  Willie's  voice  ; 
They  quickly  answer  shout  for  shout, 
And  with  their  hands  they  dig  him  out, 
And  carry  him  home.     Oh .'  did  n't  we 

In  Ingle  Dell  rejoice  ? 

"  There  be  some  tears  that  smile,  and  such 
Were  wept  by  Woman  and  Man. 

But  while  they  glistened  in  each  eye, 

He  pulled  tlte  snuff  out  sound  and  dry ; 

Snow  might  cover  him,  cold  might  clutch, 
The  Snuff"  was  safe  for  Gran." 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY. 

HE  Merry  Bells  ring  in  the  Christmas 


While  in  our  hearts  a  mournful  knell 

is  knolled, 

As  other  tidings  through  the  land  are  rolled  — 
Telling  of  a  great  spirit  passed  away. 

Another  heart  of  English  Oak  gone  down, 
Like  some  three-decker  striking  with  no  word 
Of  warning ;  sails  all  set ;  all  hands  aboard ; 

When  sunniest  skies  are  smiling  with  their  crown. 

Low  lies  the  stately  form  that  towered  so  tall, 
With  life  so  lusty,  and  with  look  so  brave ; 
The  head  thrown  back,  as  if  to  breast  the  wave 

For  many  a  year  —  the  wave  that  whelmeth  all. 

For  all  the  sobs  that  rise,  or  tears  that  rain, 
No  more  fond,  fatherly  words  for  Lad  and  Lass  ! 
No  more  across  his  manly  face  will  pass 

The  light  of  passion,  or  the  shadow  of  pain. 
21 


322    WILLIAM  MAKEPEA  CE  TEA  CKERA  7. 

We  never  told  our  love !     He  would  have  thought 
We  prattled  prettily,  amused  the  while ; 
And  held  us  at  a  distance  with  his  smile, 

Until  we  hid  the  presents  we  had  brought. 

Now  we  might  stroke  the  almost  young,  white  hair, 
And  even  kiss  the  cold  and  quiet  brow ; 
The  heart  may  have  its  way,  and  speak  out  now ! 

He  will  not  mock  us,  lying  silent  there ! 

A  nature  —  not  at  first  sight  meant  to  win  — 
That  prickly  for  protection  grows  without, 
To  safely  fence  its  tenderness  about, 

And  fold  the  sweet  virginities  within : 

Just  as  you  find  a  nest  whose  outer  form 

Looks  grimly  rugged  when  the  boughs  are  bare ; 
The  birds  have  flown — you  peep  inside,  and  there 

How  softly  it  is  lined  !  how  brooding-warm ! 

He  had  our  English  way  of  making  fun 

Of  those  shy  feelings  which  our  hearts  will  hold 
Like  dew-drops  all  a-tremble,  and  enfold 

Them  with  our  strength  —  sacred  from  storm  and 
sun. 

We  listened  to  his  voice,  as  some  true  Wife, 
Upon  her  Husband's  breast  may  lean  her  head, 
While  many  things  in  her  dispraise  are  said 

By  Him ;  but  she  leans  closer,  life  to  life, 


WILLIAM  MA  KEPEA  CE  TEA  CKERA  7.    323 

For,  while  the  covert  words  sound  on  above, 
Their  other,  deeper  meaning  she  divines ; 
She  hears  the  heart ;  knows  its  masonic  signs ; 

And  nestles  in  a  bosom  large  with  love. 

So  loud  he  cried,  a  Snake  in  Beauty's  bower ; 

A  Worm  that  gnaws  at  life's  most  human  root ; 

A  Wasp  that  revels  in  our  rarest  fruit ; 
So  gently  breathed  the  fragrance  of  the  flower ! 

He  kept  his  Show-Box  —  scant  of  Mirrors  where 
You  saw  Eternity  whose  worlds  we  pass 
Darkly  by  daylight,  but,  with  many  a  glass, 

Reflecting  all  the  Humors  of  the  Fair ! 

The  thousand  shapes  of  vanity  and  sin ; 
Toy-stalls  of  Satan  ;  the  mad  masquerade : 
The  floating  Pleasures  that  before  them  played : 

The  foolish  faces  following,  all  agrin. 

He  slyly  prickt  the  bubbles  that  we  blew ; 

He  cheered  us  on  to  chase  our  thistle-down ; 

Crowning  the  winner  with  a  fool's-cap  crown  ; 
And  Bon-Bons  mottoed  in  quaint  mockery  threw. 

Then  in  the  merry  midst  some  sad,  strange  words 
Would  touch  the  spring  of  tears.     His  eyes  were 
dry, 


324    WILLIAM  MAKEPEA  CE  TEA  CKERA  Y. 

And,  as  your  laughters  ceased,  were  wondering 

why? 
Laugh  on !     He  had  only  struck  the  minor  chords  ! 

He  was  not  one  of  those  who  are  light  at  heart 
Because  't  is  empty  in  its  airy  swing : 
He  found  the  world  too  full  of  sorrowing, 

But  showed  us  how  to  smile  and  bear  our  smart. 

Many  of  God's  most  precious  gifts  afe  sad 

To  tears,  and,  though  no  weeper,  this  he  knew. 
So,  in  our  merry  wine,  would  steep  the  rue, 

That  with  a  manlier  strength  we  might  grow  glad. 

And,  year  by  year,  still  kindlier  to  the  last, 

He  drew  us  towards  him ;  showing  more  and 

more, 
The  heart  of  honey,  human  to  the  core, 

That  into  Love's  full  flower  ripened  fast : 

Thus  Music  sweetens  to  the  latest  breath, 
And  closer  draws  the  leaning,  listening  ear ; 
And  still  it  whispers,  from  its  heaven  near, 

Of  some  more  perfect  sweetness  beyond  death. 

Large-hearted,  brave,  sincere,  compassionate  ! 
We  could  not  guess  one  half  the  Angels  see  : 
They  found  you  out,  Old  Friend,  ere  we  did ! 
We 

But  reach  the  nobler  justice  all  too  late. 


WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY.    325 

Soft,  O  Beloved !  be  your  early  Rest, 

And  sweet  its  quiet  where  the  grassy  green 
Shuts  out  so  many  and  many  a  sorry  scene  : 

Heaven   sun   the   hoarded   fragrance   from  your 
breast ! 

And  may  the  Spirit  that  with  us  but  gropes 
And  stirs  our  earth,  and  yearns  up  through  our 

night 
In   strivings   dumb,  with  you  have  found  the 

Light 
That  giveth  eyes  to  poor,  blind  human  hopes. 

For  us  —  I  know  you  would  have  us  put  away 
The  tears ;  draw  closer,  fill  the  gap,  and  keep 
Old  kindly  customs ;  sing  the  sorrow  asleep, 

And  all  make  merry,  this  being  Christ's  own  day. 


A  ROYAL  WEDDING  CHIME. 

ANY  a  time,  from  out  the  North, 

The  fire-eyed  Raven  flew, 
And  England  watcht  its  sailing  forth, 

With  eyes  of  wistful  blue ; 
Many  a  time  her  True-hearts  stood 

All  ranked  and  ready  for 
Grim  welcome,  should  the  Bird  of  blood 
Swoop  down  on  wings  of  war  ! 

To-day,  another  Norland  Bird 

Comes  floating  o'er  the  foam ; 
And  England's  heart  of  hearts  is  stirred 

To  have  the  dear  bird  Home. 
She  comes  soft-eyed,  with  brooding  breast, 

On  swift'ning  wings  of  love  ; 
And  England,  to  her  bridal  nest, 

Welcomes  the  gentle  Dove. 


A  ROYAL    WEDDING   CHIME.        327 

She  comes  ;  across  the  waters  spread  the  sails ; 

She  comes,  to  play  her  brave,  uncommon  part ; 
The  Princess  who  shall  wear  the  name  of  Wales ; 

The  Woman  who  shall  win  our  England's  heart, 
The  Nation's  life  up-lea>ps  to  meet  her ; 
And  England  with  one  voice  goes  forth  to  greet 
Her! 


Our  Lady  cometh  from  the  North, 

The  tender  and  the  true, 
Whose  fire  of  darkest  glow  hath  rarest  worth ; 
For  love  more  inly  nestles  in  the  North, 
To  give,  like  fire  in  frost,  its  fervors  forth ; 

Whose  flowers  can  keep  their  dew ; 
And  a  look  in  its  women's  eyes  is  good 
As  the  first  fresh  breath  of  the  salt  sea-flood, 

Or  the  bonniest  blink  of  its  blue : 
And  from  its  dark  Fiords,  with  sails  unfurled, 

Came  those  fair-haired  Norsemen, 
The  men  that  moved  the  world. 


They  were  the  pride  and  the  darlings  of  Ocean, 
Rockt  on  her  breast  by  a  hundred  storms ; 

Tossed  up  with  joyfullest  motherly  motion  ; 
Caught  to  her  heart  again  —  claspt  in  her  arms. 

No  Slaves  of  the  Earth  but  Sea  Kings,  the  rough 

rovers 
Took  wings  of  the  wind  and  flew  over  the  foam. 


328        A  ROYAL   WEDDING   CHIME. 

Yet  the  old  True-hearts,  like  faitht'ullest  lovers, 
Came  back  with  the  fruitfuller  feeling  of  Home. 

Come !  stir  the  Norse  fire  in  us  mightily  ! 
Come,  conquering  hearts  as  they  the  heaving  sea. 
Come,  wed  the  people  with  their  Prince,  and  bless 
Them  from   your  neighboring    heaven  of  noble- 
ness. 

There  's  nothing  like  a  Beauty  of  the  Blood 
To  set  the  fashion  of  a  loftier  good  ! 
There 's  nothing  like  a  true  and  womanly  Wife 
To  help  a  man,  and  make  melodious,  life. 
For  she  can  hold  his  heart-strings  in  her  hand, 
And  play  the  tune  her  pleasure  may  command, 
And  cause  his  climbing  soul  to  grow  in  stature, 
Trying  to  reach  the  heights  of  her  diviner  nature. 


Come  in  your  beauty  of  promise ; 

Come  in  your  maiden  glee ; 
Let  your  sunshine  scatter  from  us 

The  shadow  of  Misery. 
Hearts  in  the  dark  have  been  aching, 
But  now  the  clouds  are  breaking. 
Come  as  come  the  swallows 
"    Over  the  brightening  sea, 
And  we  know  that  summer  follows 

With  the  sunny  days  to  be. 


A  ROYAL   WEDDING -CHIME.       329 

Come  and  give  us  your  glad  good-morrow, 

The  Joy-bells  shall  ring, 

And  the  merry  birds  sing ; 
Dumbly 'drooping  the  Bird  of  Sorrow 

Shall  hide  his  old  head  under  his  wing. 


And  now  a  shining  Vision  blooms  ; 

I  see  the  rich  procession  glide 
Serenely  'twixt  the  swaling  plumes, 

All  nodding  in  their  pride  : 

Some  gate  of  Dreamland  opens  wide ; 

We,  for  a  moment,  catch  the  sight 
Within  —  the  beauty  of  the  Bride ; 

Her  maidens  all  in  white  ! 

Walking  with  sweet  precision,  she 
Moves  slowly  onward,  softly  nigher 

The  Altar ;  meek  in  purity, 
Yet  filled  with  stately  fire. 

The  dawn  upon  her  sweet  young  face, 
The  dewy  spring-light  in  her  eyes, 

And  round  about  her  form  of  grace 
The  airs  of  paradise. 

But  lo !  a  shadow  dims  the  scene ! 
We  lift  our  eyes  and  sadly  see 


330        A  ROYAL    WEDDING   CHIME. 

How  lonely  stands  the  wistful  Queen  ; 
No  leaning-place  hath  she, 

Who,  in  her  darkness  seeks  to  hide, 
While  the  wed  pair  move  whitely  on 

As  swans  go  gliding  side  by  side, 
And  all  their  splendors  sun. 

O  Widow's  gloom  !  O  wedding  joys  ! 

O  white  fringe  to  the  Mourning-pall ! 
With  the  dead  Father's  hovering  voice 

In  music  over  all ! 

This  world  is  but  a  newer  paradise, 
To  that  glad  spirit  looking  through  the  eyes 
Of  Love,  that  sees  all  bright  things  dancing  to- 
ward 

It,  gayly  coming  of  their  own  accord. 
For  't  is  as  though  the  lightsome  heart  should 

climb 

Up  in  the  head,  to  look  from  height  sublime 
And  sing,  and  swing  as  it  would  never  drop  — 
The  merry  reveller  in  the  tall  tree-top  ! 
Where  Life  is  with  such  lofty  gladness  crowned, 
And  all  the  Pleasures  dance  in  starry  circle  round. 
Bat  may  this  love  be  true  as  Hers  who  sees 
Ye,  like  a  smiling  future,  at  her  knees  : 
The  Wife  who  held  God's  gifts  the  richest  wealth  ; 


A  ROYAL   WEDDING   CHIME.       331 

Our  Queen  of  Home  who  sweetened  England's 

health ; 

The  Widow  in  whose  face  we  lookt  to  see 
That  great  black  cloud  of  our  calamity 
On  the  side  nearest  heaven,  and  markt  her  rise 
In  stature,  calm  to  meet  her  sacrifice  : 
As  one  with  faith  to  feel  Death's  darkness  brings 
Almighty  Love  on  overshadowing  wings. 

True  love  is  no  mere  incense  that  will  swim 
Up  from  the  heart  a  lover's  eyes  to  dim, 
But  such  a  light  as  gives  the  jewel-spark 
To  meanest  things  it  looks  on  in  their  dark,  — 
A  spring  of  heaven  welling  warm  to  bless 
And  sanctify  each  grain  of  earthiness. 
True  love  will  make  true  life,  and  glorify 
Ye  very  proudly  in  the  nation's  eye. 
Ah,  Prince,  a-many  hopes  npfold  the  wing 
Within  the  Marriage-nest  to  which  ye  bring 
Your  Bride,  the  life  ye  live  there  will  be  rolled 
Through  endless  echoes,  mirrored  manifold. 


We  charge  you,  when  you  look  on  your  young 

Wife, 

And  watch  the  ascending  brightness  of  new  life 
In  the  sweet  eyes  that  double  the  sweet  soul, 
That  ye  forget  not  others'  dearth  and  dole. 


332        A  ROYAL   WEDDING   CHIME. 

Just  now,  the  north-wind  wails 

As  though  the  cold  were  crying 
Over  the  hills  and  over  the  dales, 
And  sinking  hearts  know  well  what  ails 
The  sound  of  the  wintry  sighing : 
It  bears  the  moan  of  the  dying ; 
Dying  down  in  the  starving  Shires, 
Without  food,  and  without  fires. 

The  bitter  nights  are  cruel  cold, 

One  cannot  help  but  wake,  and  think 

Of  the  poor  milch-lambs  of  the  human  fold 
That  have  no  milk  to  drink. 


A  Royal  Worker  to  his  grave  went  down 

A  little  year  ago,  without  his  crown. 

He  dreamed  the  time  would  come  when  Rich  and 

Poor 

Might  shake  hands,  strove  to  open  wide  the  door. 
He  tried  to  till  our  waste-land,  —  sought  to  see 
It  glad  in  good,  the  stern  world  Poverty. 
His  was  a  heart  that  nobly  beat  to  bless, 
And  heaved  with  double-breasted  bounteousness 
Like  very  woman's. 

But,  't  is  ever  so ; 
He  's  gone  where  all  our  golden  sunsets  go ; 


A  ROYAL    WEDDING   CHIME.       333 

Gone  from  us  !     Yet  his  memory  makes  a  light, 

Enriching  life  with  tints  of  pictured  bloom, 
Like  firelight  warm  upon  the  walls  of  night, 

An  inner  glow  against  the  outer  gloom. 
Do  thou  but  live,  and  work  as  Albert  willed, 
And  he  shall  smile  in  heaven  to  see  his  dream  ful- 
filled. 

Heroic  deeds  of  toil  are  to  be  done, 
And  lofty  palms  of  peace  are  to  be  won. 
Life  may  be  followed  by  a  fame  that  rings 
With  nobler  music  than  the  Battle  sings, 
When  Death,  astride  the  black  Guns,  laughs  to  see 
That  flashing  out  of  souls,  and  grins  triumphantly. 

Love  England,  Prince ;  for  Christ's  sake  may  ye  be 
Loyal  to  her,  the  glorious,  great,  and  free ! 
Bear  high  the  banner  of  her  peerless  fame, 
And  let  the  evil-doers  fear  her  name. 
We  joy  to  serve  her,  least  of  all  the  race ; 
Yours  is  the  prize  to  fill  her  foremost  place. 

Like  some  proud  River,  stretching  forth  before  ye 
Through  all  the  land,  your  widening  way  doth 
lie, 

Brimming  and  blessing  as  it  rolls  in  glory, 

Broadening  and  brightening  till  it  reach  the  sky. 

A  splendid  Vision !  the  green  corn  looks  gay ; 
The  Bird  of  Happiness  sings  overhead : 


334       A  ROYAL   WEDDING   CHIME. 

And  may  the  autumn  uplands  far  away 

Rise  with  the  Harvest  ripe  in  Evening's  red ; 
Your  crescent  Honey-Moon  laugh  out,  —  above 
The  gathered  Sheaves  it  gilds,  —  at  full,  —  with 
love. 


PICTURES   IN  THE   FIRE. 


LD  Winter  blows,  and  whistles  hard, 
To  keep  his  fingers  warm,  while  I 
Shut  out  the  cold  night,  frosty-starred, 

Bleak  earth  and  bitter  sky ; 
And  to  the  Fireplace  nestle  nigher, 
And  gaze  on  pictures  in  the  Fire. 

It  has  a  soft,  blithe,  murmuring  glow, 

As  if  it  crooned  a  cradle-song ; 
Yet  whispers  of  some  awful  woe 

Are  on  each  flaming  tongue 
That  may  have  licked  up  human  life, 
Quick,  ruddy  as  a  murderer's  knife ! 

I  see  the  Dead  Men  underground, 

Just  as  they  found  them  rank  on  rank ; 

Old  Mothers  —  Young  Wives  —  red-eyed  round 
The  Corpses  brought  to  bank ; 

I  see  the  mournful  phantoms  flit 

About  the  mouth  of  Hartley  Pit ; 


336          PICTURES  IN  THE  FIRE. 

And  that  poor  Widow  above  the  rest 
So  eminent  in  Suffering's  crown, 

Who  wearing  sorrow's  loftiest  crest 
Is  bowed  the  lowliest  down  ; 

Poor  Widow  with  her  Coffins  seven, 

Look  down  on  Her,  dear  God  in  Heaven ! 

I  hear  that  crash  with  sinking  heart  — 
Eternity  has  broken  through ! 

I  see  him  play  his  Hero  Part, 
That  leader  tried  and  true, 

Who  faithful  stood  to  his  last  breath, 

And  fell  betwixt  them  and  their  death. 

I  hear  him  bid  them  trim  their  lamps  — 
For  Light  hath  not  gone  out  in  Heaven ! 

And  through  the  dark,  above  the  damps, 
He  beacons  them  to  haven  : 

Long  in  his  eyes  had  li\fed  the  light 

That  should  make  starry  such  a  Night. 

I  see  the  strong  man's  agony, 

That  seeks  to  rend  bis  ghastly  shroud ; 

The  touch  of  solemn  radiancy 
That  kindles  through  the  cloud ; 

The  trust  that  earned  a  nobler  doom 

Than  such  a  death  in  such  a  tomb ; 

The  valor  that  invisibly 
Lifted  the  bosom  like  a  targe ; 


PICTURES  IN   THE  FIRE.  337 

The  hidden  forces  that  must  be, 
Ready  for  Life's  last  charge ! 
And  all  the  bravery  brave  in  vain, 
And  all  the  majesty  of  pain : 

Visions  of  the  old  Home  that  flash 

With  all  the  mind's  last  mortal  power ; 

The  tears  that  burn  their  way,  to  wash 
A  soul  white  in  an  hour, 

When  thoughts  of  God  go  deeper  than 

The  Devil  at  His  utmost  can. 

I  hear  the  poor  faint  heart's  low  cry 
That  sickens  at  the  sight  of  Doom ; 

The  prayer  of  those  that  feel  it  nigh, 
And  groping  through  the  gloom  ! 

They  cower  together  hand-in-hand 

At  the  dark  door  of  the  dark  land. 

Ghostly  and  far  away  life  seems 
To  one  returning  from  a  swound ; 

And  sharp  the  sorrow  comes  in  dreams 
When  we  are  helpless  bound ; 

But  deathliest  swoons,  or  ghastliest  nights, 

Have  no  such  sounds,  or  spirit-sights. 

The  waiting  human  world  is  near, 
Yet  farther  o,ff  than  Heaven  for  them 


338  PICTURES  IN  THE  FIRE. 

Who  bow  the  doomed  head,  to  bear 

Death's  cruel  diadem, 
With  farewell  words  of  solemn  cheer 
And  love  for  those  who  cannot  hear : 

Old  heads  with  hair  like  spray  above 
A  tossed  and  troubled  sea  of  life ; 

Young  hearts,  just  kissed  to  the  quick  by  Love, 
That  leave  a  one-day  wife ! 

O  pathos  of  a  hopeless  fate ! 

O  pain  of  those  left  desolate ! 

'T  is  brave  to  die  in  Battle's  flash, 
For  the  dear  country  we  adore — 

Struck  breathless  'mid  the  glorious  crash, 
When  banners  wave  before 

The  fading  eyes,  and  at  the  ears 

We  are  caught  by  following  Victory's  cheers ! 

And  sailor-blood  that  on  the  waves 

Can  feel  the  Mother's  heaving  breast  — 

True  sailor-blood  no  wailing  craves 
Over  its  place  of  rest, 

When  souls  first  taste  eternity 

In  those  last  kisses  of  the  Sea : 

And  Death  oft  comes  with  kind  release 
To  win  a  smile  from  tljose  that  lie 


PICTURES  IN  THE  FIRE.  339 

Where  they  may  feel  the  blessed  breeze, 

And  look  up  at  the  sky, 
And  drink  in,  with  their  latest  sigh, 
A  little  air  for  strength  to  die : 

But  't  is  a  fearful  thing  to  be 

Instantly  buried  alive ;  fast-bound 

In  cold  arms  of  Eternity 

That  clasp  the  breathing  round, 

And  hold  them,  though  their  Comrades  call 

And  dig  with  efforts  useless  all. 

A  tear  for  those  who,  in  that  night, 

Went  down  so  unavailingly ; 
A  cheer  for  those  who  fought  our  fight, 

And  missed  the  victory  ! 
Peace  to  the  good  true  hearts  that  gave 
A  moral  glory  to  that  grave ! 

We  know  not  how  amid  the  gloom 
Some  jewel  of  the  just  outshone ; 

With  precious  sparkle  lit  the  tomb 
And  led  the  hopeless  on 

To  hope,  and  showed  the  only  way 

To  find  God's  hand  and  reach  his  day. 

We  know  not  how  in  that  quick  hour 
Some  poor  uncultured  human  clod 


340          PICTURES  IN  THE  FIRE. 

May  have  put  forth  its  one  sweet  flower, 

Acceptable  to  God ; 
Or  how  the  touch  of  Death  revealed 
Some  buried  beauty  life  concealed : 

We  know  not  how  the  Dove  of  peace 
Came  brooding  on  the  fluttering  breast, 

To  make  the  fond  life-yearnings  cease, 
And  fold  them  up  for  rest ; 

And  into  shining  shape  the  soul 

Burst,  like  the  flame  from  out  the  coal : 

We  only  know 'the  watch-fires  burned 
Long  in  their  eyes  for  human  aid, 

And  failed,  and  then  to  God  they  turned, 
And  altogether  prayed, 

And  that  the  deepest  Mine  may  be, 

For  prayer,  God's  whispering  Gallery  ! 

That  Christ  still  hangs  upon  the  Tree 
To  smile  beneath  His  thorns,  and  say 

"  This  night,  Soul,  thou  shall  sup  with  me," 
In  His  old  loving  way  ; 

And  suffering  men  get  back  to  God 

By  that  same  path  the  Saviour  trod. 

Deep,  dark  the  deathly  River  is, 
But  on  before  still  walketh  Christ ! 


PICTURES  IN  THE  FIRE.          341 

His  brightness  over  that  abyss 

Is  moving  in  the  mist. 
If  they  who  pass  the  bridge  of  Dread 
Look  up,  He  goeth  overhead. 

Dear  God,  be  very  pitiful 

To  these  poor  toiling  slaves  of  men ; 
Be  gracious  if  their  hearts  be  dull 

With  darkness  of  their  den  : 
'T  is  hard  for  flowers  of  Heaven  to  grow 
Down  where  the  earth-flowers  cannot  blow  ! 

Their  lives  are  as  the  Candle-snuff, 
Black  in  the  midst  of  its  own  light ! 

Let  hard  hands  plead  for  spirits  rough  — 
They  work  so  much  in  night. 

Be  merciful,  they  breathe  their  breath 

So  close  to  danger,  pain,  and  death. 

The  love-mist  in  a  Father's  eye 
Must  rise,  and  soften  much  that 's  rude 

In  his  poor  children  —  magnify 
The  least  faint  gleam  of  good ! 

O,  find  some  place  for  human  worth 

In  Heaven,  when  it  has  failed  on  Earth. 


PRIDEAUX  AT  MAGDALA. 


O  Cross  of  Valor  hath  the  Muse  to  give 
His  faithful  breast,  but  she  may  bid 

him  live 

In  hearts  of  grateful  glow, 
Who  went  to  bear  his  Message  with  last  breath, 
Nor  changed  countenance  at  sight  of  Death, 
When  Napier  bade  him  go. 

England,  our  Helen,  watching  from  the  wall 
To  cheer  us  fighting,  mourn  us  if  we  fall, 

O'erlooks  her  gallant  Son ! 
She  hath  so  many  lofty  memories 
To  keep  her  lifted  gaze  ;  a  deed  like  this 

So  many  would  do  —  have  done : 

He  did  it !  that  poor  Private  in  the  "  Buffs,"  * 
Though  only  one  of  her  neglected  "  roughs,"  — 
All  English,  —  life  and  limb ! 

*  Moyse,  an  English  soldier  killed  in  China  because  ho 
•would  not  perform  the  kotow,  said  he  would  not  prostrate 
himself  before  any  Chinaman  alive,  — would  see  them,  &c., 
&o. 


PRIDE AUX  AT  MAGDALA.  343 

He  would  not  bow  his  head  except  to  die ; 
He  could  not  let  our  England's  image  lie 
Dishonored,  shamed  in  him  ! 

Duty,  not  Glory,  is  our  proud  password, 

Who  ask  that  we  may  prove  for  England's  sword 

True  steel  at  need  —  no  more. 
Yet  worthy  of  his  guerdon  is  Prideaux, 
As  if  on  board  they  had  borne  him,  lying  low 

For  us  who  were  safe  on  shore. 

That  large  content  with  death  for  England's  sake 
In  narrower  hearts  a  nobler  life  shall  wake 

To  breathe  with  ampler  breath, 
And  some  poor  soul,  caught  in  as  bitter  strait, 
Shall  think  of  him,  and  sternly  face  its  fate  — 

Go  on,  and  out-face  Death ! 

Blow,  winds  of  God !  and  stir  us  to  the  root, 
Shake  down  all  wormy  and  unworthy  fruit, 

There  's  new  life  in  your  breeze  ! 
Traitors  may  talk  of  England  going  down 
(In   quicksands   that   their   coward    selves    have 
sown)  — 

She  swims  in  hearts  like  these ! 


SONGS  AND  OTHER  BREVITIES. 


SYLVIA   MAY. 

EART  of  mine,  so  longing  for  rest, 
Better  to  build  thy  love-lined  Nest 
On  a  storm-swung  bough  than  a  Woman's 
breast." 


But  this  heart  of  mine  still  sayeth  me,  "  Nay  " ; 
Shows  me  the  picture  of  Sylvia  May  : 
Wilful  heart  must  have  its  way ! 

"  Heart  of  mine,  far  wiser  't  would  be 
To  build  thy  nest  on  a  wave  of  the  sea, 
Tossed  and  troubled  perpetually." 

But  this  heart  of  mine  still  sayeth  me,  "  Nay  " ; 
And  whispers  the  name  of  Sylvia  May  : 
Foolish  heart  will  have  its  way  ! 


PARTING.  345 

"  Never  was  love  I  think  like  mine ; 
Never  was  woman  so  nearly  divine ; 
Never  could  lives  more  perfectly  twine." 

And  this  heart  of  mine  it  murmureth,  "  Yea  "  ; 
Wilful  heart  must  have  its  way  — 
When  will  you  marry  me,  Sylvia  May  ? 


PAETING 

OO  fair,  I  may  not  call  thee  mine . 

Too  dear,  I  may  not  see 
Those  eyes  with  bridal-beacons  shine ; 

Yet,  Darling,  keep  for  me  — 
Empty  and  husht,  and  safe  apart, 
One  little  corner  of  thy  heart ; 

Thou  wilt  be  happy,  dear !  and  bless 
Thee  ;  happy  mayst  thou  be  ! 

I  would  not  make  thy  pleasure  less ; 
Yet,  Darling,  keep  for  me, 

My  life  to  light,  my  lot  to  leaven, 

One  little  corner  of  thy  Heaven  ! 

Good  by,  dear  heart !     I  go  to  dwell 
A  weary  way  from  thee  : 


346    SONGS  AND   OTHER  BREVITIES. 

Our  first  kiss  is  our  last  farewell ; 

Yet,  Darling,  keep  for  me  — 
Who  wander  outside  in  the  night, 
One  little  corner  of  thy  light ! 


OLD  FKIENDS. 

E  just  shake  hands  at  meeting 
With  many  that  come  nigh ; 
We  nod  the  head  in  greeting 

To  many  that  go  by,  — 
But  welcome  through  the  gateway 

Our  few  old  friends  and  true ; 
Then  hearts  leap  up,  and  straightway 
There  's  open  house  for  you, 

Old  Friends, 
There  's  open  house  for  you ! 

The  surface  will  he  sparkling, 

Let  but  a  sunbeam  shine ; 
Yet  in  the  deep  lies  darkling, 

The  true  life  of  the  wine ! 
The  froth  is  for  the  many, 

The  wine  is  for  the  few ; 


AUTUMN  SONG.  347 

Unseen,  untoucht  of  any, 
We  keep  the  best  for  you, 

Old  Friends, 
The  very  best  for  you  ! 

The  Many  cannot  know  us  ; 

They  only  pace  the  strand. 
Where  at  our  worst  we  show  us  — 

The  waters  thick  with  sand  ! 
But  out  beyond  the  leaping 

Dim  surge  't  is  clear  and  blue  ; 
And  there,  Old  Friends,  we  are  keeping 

A  sacred  calm  for  you, 

Old  Friends, 

A  waiting  calm  for  you. 


AUTUMN  SONG. 

l]HE  summer  days  are  ended ; 

The  after-glow  is  gone ; 
The  nights  grow  long  and  eerie ; 

The  winds  begin  to  moan  ; 
The  pleasant  leaves  are  fading  ; 

The  bonny  swallows  flee ; 
Yet  welcome  is  the  Winter 
That  brings  my  Love  to  me. 


348    SONGS  AND'  OTHER  BREVITIES. 

No  voice  of  bird  now  ripples 

The  air ;  no  wood- walk  rings  ! 
But  in  my  happy  bosom 

The  soul  of  Music  sings 
It  sings  of  clearest  heaven, 

And  summers  yet  to  be; 
Then  welcome  is  the  Wintei 

That  brings  my  Love  to  me. 

A  world  of  gathered  sunshine 

Is  this  warm  heart  of  mine, 
Where  life  hath  heapt  the  fruitage, 

And  love  hath  hid  the  wine. 
And  though  there  's  not  a  flower  • 

In  field,  nor  leaf  on  tree ; 
Yet  welcome  is  the  Winter 

That  brings  my  Love  to  me. 


SONNET. 

LOVE  a  lady  all  so  far  above 

Me,  she  cau  never  hear  the  name  of 

love; 
I  only  whisper  to  my  heart  in  low 

Dark  sayings  what  my  lady  must  not  know ; 

But,  had  I  only  a  minute's  space  to  live, 


HEIGH-HO!  349 

And  she  beside  me,  I  would  pray  her  give 
Me  on  the  mouth  one  dear  and  holy  kiss ; 
And  straightway  a  warm  stream  of  paradise 
Would  gush  and  gladden  all  the  gulf  of  death, 

A  calm  of  blessed  faces  take  mine  eyes, 
A  hurricane  of  harpings  take  my  breath  : 
All  heaven  would  bend  brooding  down  to  meet 
Me,  in  that  gracious  stooping  of  my  Sweet  ; 
And,  at  her  touch,  my  soul  should  enter  bliss. 


HEIGH-HO ! 

EIGH-HO  !    She  will  never  be  mine : 

Never !  never !  I  know. 
The  grasp  of  gold 
My  Jewel  will  hold  : 
She  is  Lofty  and  I  am  Low. 

Heigh-ho  !  but  my  heart  like  a  Bird 

On  wings  of  the  night  will  go, 
To  make  its  love-nest 
In  that  heaven  of  her  breast 

'Neath  the  heaven  of  her  eyes  all  aglow ! 

Heigh-ho !  in  dreams  she  is  mine, 
All  mine :  and  how  can  I  know 


350    SONGS  AND   OTHER  BREVITIES. 

But  she  loves  me  in  dream, 
With  no  drawn  sword  agleam, 

'Twixt  the  kissing  of  Lofty  and  Low. 


LOVE'S  WESTWAKD  HO! 

LEASANT  it  is,  sweet  Wife  of  mine, 
As  by  my  side  thou  art, 
To  sit  and  see  thy  dear  eyes  shine 

With  bonfires  of  the  heart ! 
And  young  Love  smiles  so  sweet  and  sly, 

From  warm  and  balmy  deeps, 
As  under-leaf  the  fruit  may  try 

To  hide,  yet  archly  peeps : 
Gliding  along  in  our  fairy  boat, 
With  prospering  skies  above, 
Over  the  sea  of  time  we  float 
To  another  New  World  of  Love. 

One  of  God's  Darlings  is  our  Guide : 

Ah,  how  it  makes  us  lean, 
Hearts  beating  lovingly  side  by  side 

That  nothing  may  come  between. 
As  yon  brave  ring  of  Stars  doth  fold 

Our  world,  so  is  it  given 


HOME  SONG.  351 

To  this  wee  ring  of  wedding  gold 
To  clasp  us  round  with  heaven  : 

Gliding  along  in  our  fairy  boat, 
With  prospering  skies  above, 

Over  the  sea  of  time  we  float 
To  another  New  World  of  Love. 


HOME  SONG. 

j]HE  Larch  is  snooding  her  tresses 

In  a  twine  of  the  daintiest  green ; 
With  fresh  spring-breath  the  Hawthorn 

heaves 

His  breast  to  the  sunny  sheen. 
A  shower  of  spring-green  sprinkles  the  Lime ; 

A  shower  of  spring-gold  the  Broom  ; 
And  each  rathe  tint  of  the  tender  time 

Wakes  the  wish  that  my  Lady  were  Home. 

In  the  Coppice,  the  dear  Primroses 

Are  the  smile  of  each  dim  green  nook, 
Gravely  gladsome ;  sunny  but  cool 

With  the  sound  of  the  gurgling  brook. 
And  by  the  wayside,  in  a  burst  of  delight, 

From  the  world  of  fairy  and  gnome, 
All  the  flowers  are  crowding  to  see  the  sight 

At  their  windows.     My  Lady,  come  Home ! 


352    SONGS  AND   OTHER  BREVITIES. 

The  Country 's  growing  glorious 

Quietly  day  by  day ; 
The  color  of  April  comes  and  goes 

In  a  blush  to  meet  the  May. 
And  the  spring-rains  steal  from  their  heaven  of 
shade, 

In  a  veil  of  tender  gloam, 
With  a  splendid  sparkle  for  every  blade. 

Dear  my  Lady,  come  Home ! 

The  Spirit  of  Gladness  floating 

Goes  up  in  a  sound  of  song  : 
Robin  sings  in  the  rich  eve-lights ; 

The  Throstle  all  day  long : 
The  Lark  in  his  heaven  that  soars  above 

Each  morn  with  a  distant  dome  ; 
All  sweet !  but  sweeter  the  voice  we  love. 

Come  Home,  my  Lady,  come  Home  ! 

Your  Apple-blooms  are  fragrant 

Beyond  the  breath  of  the  South ; 
Every  bud,  for  an  airy  kiss, 

Is  lifting  a  rosy  wee  mouth. 
A  greener  glory  hour  by  hour, 

And  a  peep  of  ruddier  bloom, 
But  the  leafy  world  waiteth  its  human  flower. 

Dear  my  Lady,  come  Home ! 

Our  thoughts  are  as  the  Violets 
Around  the  Ash-tree  root, 


EPIGRAM.  353 

That  breathe  the  earliest  hints  of  Spring 

At  their  lofty  lady's  foot, 
And  wonder  why  she  still  delays  — 

When  the  sea  of  life  is  afoam 
With  flowers  —  to  crown  her  in  these  glad  days. 

Come  Home,  my  Lady,  come  Home ! 

Come  !  feel  the  deepening  dearness 

About  the  grand  old  place. 
Come !  let  us  see  the  cordial  smile 

Once  more  in  our  Lady's  face. 
Winter  was  dreary  :  of  waiting  we  weary  : 

Best  of  all  joy-bringers,  come  ! 
Spread,  bonny  white  sails !  blow,  balmy  spring- 
gales  ! 

And  bring  my  Lady  Home  ! 


EPIGRAM. 

DO  believe  that  Shakespeare  hath  re- 
vealed 

To  me  that  very  self  so  long  concealed  ! 
But,  if  His  soul  my  soul  hath  lightened 

through, 

I  do  believe  it  was  to  glance  at  You  — 
To  find,  with  loving  wonder  in  his  looks, 
One  of  his  Women  living  out  of  his  Books. 
23 


354    SONGS  AND    OTHER  BREVITIES. 


SEA-SONG. 

OME,  show  your  colors  now,  my  Lads, 

That  all  the  world  may  know 
The  Boys  are  equal  to  their  Dads, 
Whatever  blast  may  blow. 


All  hands  aboard !  our  country  calls 

On  her  seafaring  folk ! 
In  giving  up  our  wooden  Walls, 

More  need  for  Hearts  of  Oak. 

Remember  how  that  old  Fire  Drake 
Did  singe  the  Spaniard's  beard ; 

Vnd  think  how  Raleigh,  Nelson,  Blake, 
Into  their  harbors  steered. 

Think  how  o'  nights  we  cut  them  out ! 

'T  was  many  a  time  and  oft  — 
Silence !  —  a  rush  —  a  tug  —  a  shout  — 

And  the  old  flag  flew  aloft. 

Be  it  one  to  seven,  —  be  it  Hell  or  Heaven, — 

We  fought  our  decks  red-wet ! 
Be  it  hell  or  heaven,  —  be  it  one  to  seven,  — 

We  fear  no  foeman  yet. 


THE   WHITE   CHILD.  355 

That  secret  in  the  Sphinx's  eyes 

Must  have  solution  stern  ; 
Another  throw  o'  the  Devil's  dice 

And  it  may  be  our  turn  ! 

At  every  port-hole  there  must  flame 

The  same  fierce  battle-face  : 
All  worthy  of  the  old  sea-fame  — 

All  of  the  old  sea-race. 


THE   WHITE    CHILD. 

OTHERS  of  Children  three  ; 

Two  of  them  ruddy  with  glee ; 

One  your  White  Child,  your  pearl ! 

Do  you  feel  as  I  feel  with  my  Girl  1 
For  I  peer  in  her  tender  face, 
And  I  fear  that  its  light  of  grace 
Is  too  still  and  too  starry  a  birth 
For  our  noisy,  dim  dwellings  of  Earth. 
She  looks  like  a  natural  Child 
Of  the  heavens  —  too  lustrous,  too  mild 
For  us.     Other  Roses  are  blowing 
While  mine  seems  upfolding  and  going,  — 
Dreamily  happy  in  going. 
Yet  on  it  more  soft  is  the  thorn 


356    SONGS  AND   OTHER  BREVITIES. 

Than  the  tiniest  little  snail's-horn, 
And  golden  at  heart  is  the  Morn 
Of  a  day  that  will  never  be  born. 

Just  a  spirit  of  light  is  my  Girl, 

Seen  through  a  body  of  pearl ; 

A  spirit  of  life  that  will  fleet 

Away,  more  on  wings  than  on  feet. 

Her  cheek  is  so  waxenly  thin, 

As  if  deathward  't  were  whitening  in, 

And  the  cloud  of  her  flesh,  still  more  white, 

Were  clearing  till  soul  is  in  sight. 

She  leans  as  the  wind-flowers  stoop ; 

All  their  loveliness  seen  as  they  droop  ! 

Her  eyes  have  the  sweet  native  hue 

Of  the  heaven  they  are  melting  into, 

Blue  as  the  Violets  above 

The  grave  of  some  tender  babe-love 

That  back  to  us  wistfully  bring 

The  buried  blue  eyes  with  the  Spring. 

Her  large  eyes  too  liquidly  glister  ! 

Her  mouth  is  too  red. 

Have  they  kissed  her — 
The  Angels  that  bend  down  to  pull 
Our  buds  of  the  Beautiful, 
And  whispered  their  own  little  Sister  ? 

O  Mothers  of  Children  three ! 
Two  of  them  bright  of  blee ; 


CHILDREN  AT  PLAY.  357 

One,  your  White  Child,  your  pearl ! 
Do  you  feel  as  I  feel  with  my  Girl  ? 
For  I  think  I  could  give  half  her  wealth 
Of  heaven  for  a  little  more  health  : 
The  halo  of  Saints  for  the  simple 
Blithe  graces  that  dip  in  a  dimple ! 
Nay,  I  feel  in  my  heart  I  could  revel 
To  see  but  a  wee  dash  of  devil ; 
A  touch  of  the  old  Adam  in  her  ; 
A  glimpse  of  his  fair  fellow-sinner ; 
Any  likeness  of  earth  that  would  give 
Me  a  promise  my  Darling  should  live. 
O  my  love !     O  my  life  !     O  my  Maker, 
Take  ME  too,  if  Thou  MUST  take  her ! 


CHILDREN   AT   PLAY. 

PEN  your  mouth  and  shut  your  eyes," 

Three  little  Maidens  were  saying,  — 
'  And  see  what  God  sends  you  !  "  little 

they  thought 
He  listened  while  they  were  playing ! 
So  little  we  guess  that  a  light  light  word 
At  times,  may  be  more  than  praying. 

"  I,"  said  Kate  with  the  merry  blue  eyes, 
«  Would  Jiave  lots  of  frolic  and  folly  "  ; 


358   SONGS  AND   OTHER  BREVITIES. 

"  I,"  said  Ciss  with  the  bonnie  brown  hair, 
"  Would  have  life  always  smiling  and  jolly  "  ; 

"  And  1  would  have  just  what  our  Father  may  send," 
Said  lovable  little  pale  Polly. 

Life  came  for  the  Two,  with  sweetnesses  new 
Every  morning  in  gloss  and  in  glister. 

But  Our  Father  above,  in  a  gush  of  great  love,' 
Caught  up  little  Polly  and  kissed  her. 

And  the  Churchyard  nestled  another  wee  grave ; 
The  Angels  another  wee  Sister. 


SLEEP-WALKING. 


FT  in  the  night  I  am  with  you,  Dear ! 
I   lean  and  listen   your  breathing   to 

hear; 
Little  you  dream  of  any  one  near. 

No  one  knoweth  that  I  am  gone  ; 
Curtains  closely  about  me  drawn, 
When  dreams  dissolve  at  touch  of  Dawn. 

Nobody  meets  me  under  the  sky, 

Only  the  staring  Owl  goes  by 

Softly  as  though  the  Night  should  sigh. 


SLEEP-WALKING.  359 

Under  the  moonlight,  over  the  moss  ! 
I  need  no  bridge  the  river  to  cross, 
Though  winds  awake  and  waters  toss. 

0  sweet,  so  sweet  the  Nightingale's  strain ! 
Is  it  her  pleasure  that  works  us  pain, 

Or  her  pain  that  with  pleasure  pierces  the  brain  ? 

• 

Window  or  door  I  pass  not  through : 
The  way  I  never  could  show  to  you 
By  day.  I  enter  as  spirits  do-! 

There  you  are  !  lying  cheek-on-palm, 
Drinking  of  slumber's  dewiest  calm, 
Filling  your  life  with  the  rosiest  balm. 

The  little  wee  bird  that  beats  in  the  breast, 
Hath  folded  its  wings  in  a  wee  white  nest, 
Breathing  the  odors  of  sweet  rest. 

But  the  other  night  —  see  my  blushes  bloom  — 
Somehow  I  missed  my  way  in  the  gloom, 
And,  thinking  myself  quite  safe  in  your  room, 

1  nestled  my  face,  as  I  thought,  in  your  bed 
To  kiss  you,  and  —  let  me  hide  my  head  — 
I  kissed  —  I  kissed  —  your  Teacher  instead. 


360    SONGS  AND   OTHER  BREVITIES. 


AN    APOLOGUE. 

N  the  olden  day  when  Immortals 

Came  oftener  visibly  down, 
There  went  a  Youth  with  an  Angel 

Through  the  gate  of  an  Eastern  Town : 
They  passed  a  Dog  by  the  roadside, 

Where  dead  and  rotting  it  lay, 
And  the  Youth,  at  the  ghastly  odor, 

Sickened  and  turned  away. 
He  gathered  his  robes  about  him 

And  hastily  hurried  thence  : 

But  naught  annoyed  the  Angel's 

Clear,  pure,  immortal  sense. 

By  came  a  lady,  lip-luscious, 

On  delicate  tinkling  feet  : 
All  the  place  grew  glad  with  her  presence, 

The  air  about  her  sweet ; 
For  she  came  in  fragrance  floating, 

And  her  voice  most  silvery  rang  ; 
The  Youth,  to  embrace  her  beauty, 

With  all  his  being  sprang. 
A  sweet,  delightsome  Lady : 

And  yet  the  Legend  saith, 
The  Angel,  while  he  passed  her, 

Shuddered  and  held  his  breath. 


THE  GLOW-WORM. 


THE    GLOW-WORM. 


HE  Apes  found  a  Glow-worm, 

Shining  in  the  night,  — 
A  little  drop  of  radiance 
Tenderly  alight ; 


Ho !  Ho !  shivered  the  Apes, 

Grinning  all  together, 
We  '11  make  a  fire  to  warm  us ; 

'T  is  jolly  cold  weather. 

With  dry  sticks  and  dead  leaves, 

All  the  Apes  came ; 
Piled  a  heap  and  squatted  round 

To  blow  it  into  flame ! 

But  fire  would  not  kindle  so  — 
Vain  their  wasted  breath  ! 

Only  they  blew  out  the  glow  — 
Put  the  worm  to  death. 

Glow-worms  were  meant  to  shine 
Apes  can't  blow  them  hot, 

Just  to  warm  their  foolish  hands, 
Or  boil  their  flesh-pot. 


362    SONGS  AND   OTHER  BREVITIES. 

So  the  World  would  serve  the  Poet, 

With  his  light  of  love. 
Probably  his  use  may  be 

Better  known  above. 


MY    NEIGHBOR 

OVE  ihou  thy  Neighbor,"  we  are  told, 
"Even  as  Thyself."  That  creed  I  hold; 
But  love  her  more,  a  thousand-fold  I 


My  lovely  Neighbor;  oft  we  meet 
In  lonely  lane,  or  crowded  street ; 
I  know  the  music  of  her  feet. 

She  little  thinks  how,  on  a  day, 

She  must  have  missed  her  usual  way, 

And  walked  into  my  heart  for  aye. 

Or  how  the  rustle  of  her  dress 
Thrills  through  me  like  a  soft  caress, 
With  trembles  of  deliciousness. 

Wee  woman,  with  her  smiling  mien, 

And  soul  celestially  serene, 

She  passes  me,  unconscious  Queen! 


M T  NEIGHBOR.  363 

Her  face  most  innocently  good, 
Where  shyly  peeps  the  sweet  red  blood. 
Her  form  a  nest  of  Womanhood  ! 

Like  Ealeigh  —  for  her  dainty  tread, 
When  ways  are  miry  —  I  could  spread 
My  cloak,  but,  there  'a  my  heart  instead. 

Ah,  Neighbor,  yon  will  never  know 
Why  't  is  my  step  is  quickened  so ; 
Nor  what  the  prayer  I  murmur  low. 

I  see  you  'mid  your  flowers  at  morn, 
Fresh  as  the  rosebud  newly  born ; 
I  marvel,  can  you  have  a  thorn  ? 

If  so,  't  were  sweet  to  lean  one's  breast 

Against  it,  and,  the  more  it  prest, 

Sing  like  the  Bird  that  sorrow  hath  blest. 

I  hear  you  sing !     And  through  me  Spring 
Doth  musically  ripple  and  ring ; 
Little  you  think  I  'm  listening ! 

You  know  not,  dear,  how  dear  you  be ; 
All  dearer  for  the  secrecy : 
Nothing,  and  yet  a  world  to  me. 

So  near,  too !  you  could  hear  me  sigh, 

Or  see  my  case  with  half  an  eye ; 

But  must  not.     There  are  reasons  why. 


A  POET'S   LOVE-LETTER. 


OU  ask  me,  Friend,  to  tell  you  of  my 

Wife! 
And  on  what  stair  or  landing-place  of 

life 

I  met,  as  't  were,  God's  Angel  coming  down, 
Or  mine  ascending,  for  her  marriage  crown  ? 

I  say  you  sooth,  however  strange  it  seem, 
The  first  time  that  I  saw  her  was  in  dream  : 
A  vision  of  the  night  did  clearly  glass 
Her  living  lineaments.     I  saw  her  pass 
Smiling,  as  those  may  smile  who  feel  they  hold 
At  heart  safe-hidden,  secret  fold  on  fold, 
The  sweetest  love  that  ever  was  untold. 
Aad  as  it  went  the  Vision  flasht  on  me 
A  moment's  look ;  a  lifetime's  memory. 
But  little  could  I  dream  that  this  should  prove 
The  whole  wide  world's  one  lady  of  my  love. 
I  had  never  seen  that  face  or  form,  and  yet 
I  knew  them  both  by  daylight  when  we  met. 


A  POETS  LOVE-LETTER.  365 

Blind  World  !  to  pass,  and  pass  my  darling  by, 

My  lily  of  the  vale,  where  she  did  lie 

Snug  in  her  own  green  leaves,  and  never  see 

The  flower  veiled  and  waiting  there  for  me, 

With  cloudy  fragrance  all  about  her  curled ; 

And  yet,  my  blessings  on  thee,  0  blind  World  ! 

It  is  so  sweet  to  find  with  one's  own  eyes, 

Led  by  divine  good-hap,  to  her  surprise, 

Our  Perdita,  our  Princess  in  disguise ! 

The  eye  that  finds  must  bring  the  power  to  see ; 

(Says  Goethe's  doctrine,  comforting  to  me  !) 

And  now  she  's  found,  the  world  would  give  me 

much 
Could  I  but  tell  it  of  another  such. 

Is  she  an  Angel  ? 

Let  us  not  forget, 

My  Friend,  that  WE  are  scai'cely  Angels  yet. 
At  least  my  modest  soul  would  not  be  pledged 
To  call  itself  an  Angel  fully  fledged  : 
Flesh  is  so  frail !  nor  am  I  very  sure 
Of  being,  in  spirit,  altogether  pure  ! 
Snags  of  old  broken  sins  torment  me  still 
With  pains  that  Death  itself  will  hardly  kill. 
If  not  an  Angel,  let  the  truth  be  told, 
I  have  not  grasped  the  glitter  —  missed  the  Gold. 
And  lucky  is  the  man  who  gets  the  gold, 
Refined  and  fitted  for  the  marriage  mould  ! 


366  A  POETS  LOVE-LETTER. 

Still  happier  who  can  keep  it  pure  to  bear 
The  finer  features  of  immortal  wear. 
She  is  of  Angel-stuff ;  but  I  'm  afraid 
The  Angels  are  not  given  us  ready-made  : 
In  other  worlds,  this  wife  of  mine  may  be 
The  perfect  public  Angel  all  may  see ; 
At  present  she  'a  a  private  one  for  me  — 
My  household  deity  of  Common  Things, 
That  into  lowly  ways  a  beauty  brings, 
Just  as  the  grass  comes  creeping,  making  bright 
And  blessed,  with  its  ripples  of  delight 
And  quiet  smiles,  all  pathways  dim  and  bare. 

Is  she  a  Beauty  ? 

Well,  I  will  not  swear 
A  thousand  beauties  with  her  beauty  blend ; 
A  thousand  graces  on  her  Grace  attend ; 
Or  that  she  is  so  piteously  fair 
Each  passer-by  must  turn,  or  stop,  or  stare, 
And  he  on  whom  she  looks  feels  instantly 
As  one  that  springs  from  dust  to  deity. 
Nor  can  I  sing  of  outward  symbols  now 
The  swan-white  stately  neck ;  the  snow-white  brow  ; 
The  lip's  live  rose  ;  the  head  superbly  crowned  ; 
Eyes,   that   when   fathomed,   farthest  heaven    is 

found ! 

I  chose  for  worth,  not  show,  nor  chose  for  them 
Who  want  the  casket  richer  than  the  gem. 


A  POET'S  LOVE-LETTER.  367 

That  Wife   is   poor,    whate'er    her    dower   may 

be, 

Who  hath  no  beauty  save  what  all  may  see  : 
No  mystery  of  the  human  and  divine  ; 
No  other  face  to  unveil  within  the  shrine, 
Up-lighted  only  for  one  worshipper, 
And  to  one  love  alone  familiar ; 
No  veil  to  lift  from  the  familiar  face 
Daily,  and  show  the  unfamiliar  grace. 
Eyes  shine  for  others,  but  divinely  dim 
And  dewy  do  they  grow  only  for  him ! 
And  her  dear  face  transfigured  he  doth  find 
All  mirror  to  the  marvel  in  his  mind  ! 

The  beauty  worn  by  Bird  and  Butterfly 
Lives  on  the  outside,  lustrous  to  the  eye  : 
But  still  as  nobler  grow  hue,  form,  and  face, 
More  inward  is  shy  Beauty's  dwelling-place. 
And  theie  's  a  beauty  fashioned  in  the  mould 
Transmitted  from  the  Beautiful  of  old, 
That  from  some  family-face  its  best  doth  win  : 
But  my  love's  beauty  cometh  from  within  j 
The  loveliness  of  love  made  visible, 
To  feature  which  the  sculptor  Form  is  dull : 
Not  the  mere  charms  of  cheek,  or  chin,  or  lip, 
That  vanish  on  a  week's  acquaintanceship  j 
But  that  crown-beauty  which  we  cannot  clasp, 
The  beauty  that  eludes  Death's  own  grave-grasp. 


368  A  POET'S  LOVE-LETTER. 

At  forty,  what  we  seek  for  in  a  Wife 
Is  a  calm  haven  amid  seas  of  strife  : 
One  fresh  green  summit  in  the  waste  of  life, 
That  gathers  dew  of  heaven  and  tenderly 
Turns  it  to  healing  drops  for  you  or  me  ; 
A  spring  of  freshness  in  the  desert  sand ; 
A  palm  for  shadow  in  a  weary  land ; 
A  being  that  doth  not  dwell  so  far  apart 
That  we  can  find  no  entrance  save  at  heart ; 
One  that  at  equal  step  with  us  may  walk, 
And  kiss  at  equal  stature  in  our  talk ; 
And  scale  the  loftiest  life,  still  arm-in-arm, 
As  well  as  nestle  in  the  valleys  warm. 

And  here  's  my  Best,  where  sun  and  shadow  meet 
O'erhead,  the  small  flowers  budding  at  my  feet; 
Green  picnic  places  peeping  from  the  wood, 
Where  you  may  meet  the  spirit  of  Eobin  Hood 
Crossing  the  moonlight  at  the  old  deer-chase ; 
A  brooding  Dove  the  Spirit  of  the  place  ; 
Gleams  of  the  Graces  at  their  bath  of  dew  ; 
An  earthly  pleasaunce  ;  heaven  trembling  through ; 
My  Darling  sitting  with  her  hand  in  mine, 
Here,  where  'mid   the  lush  grass  the  large-eyed 

kine 

Ruminant,  stolid,  statelily  behold 
The  milky  plenty  and  the  blossoming  gold  : 
And  with  glad  laugh  the  tiny  buttercup 


A  POET'S  LOVE-LETTER.  369 

Its  beaker  of  delight  brimful  holds  up  ; 

And  prodigally  glorified,  the  mead 

Is  all  aglow  with  red-ripe  sorrel-seed, 

And  quick  with  smells  that  make  one  long  to  be 

A-gathering  sweets,  bloom-buried  utterly. 

The  sylvan  world's  old  royalties  around 

With  all  their  summer  beauty  newly  crowned : 

Broad  beeches,  that  have  caught  alive  the  swirl 

O'  the  wind-wave — shaped  it  in  their  branches'  curl ; 

Proud  oaks,  from  head  to  foot  all  feudal  yet ; 

And  whispering  pines,  that  have  in  worship  met,  — 

Their  delicate  Gothic  sharp  against  the  shine 

Of  sunset  heaven's  honeyed  hyaline  — 

As  dark  and  still  and  plumed,  as  the  Hearse 

Of  day's  departed  glory,  are  those  Firs 

When  Venus,  glowing  in  the  Lift  above, 

Laughs  down  on  lovers  with  the  eye  of  Love, 

Luminous  in  her  loveliness,  as  though 

The  Goddess'  self  were  coming  from  the  glow. 

I  brought  my  Love  here  happy  months  ago, 

Her  winter  prison,  amid  miles  of  snow. 

Poor  bird !  she  felt  that  she  was  caged  at  last, 

Hei>  forest  far  away,  its  freedom  past  : 

Her  eyes  made  mournful  search,  mine  laughed  to 

see, 

She  would  have  flown,  and  knew  not  where  to  flee. 
24 


370  A  POET'S  LOVE-LETTER. 

The  little  wedding  ring  had  grown  a  round 
Large  hoop  about  our  lives,  and  we  were  bound ! 
Useless  was  all  petitionary  quest, 
No  outlet !  —  so  she  nestled  in  my  breast ; 
And  may  we  always  be  as  wise,  my  dear, 
When  things  look  dark  around,  or  foes  are  near. 

And  now  the  fragrant  summer-tide  hath  come 

And  isled  us  in  a  sea  of  leaf  and  bloom. 

And  now  the  tremulous  sweetness,  restless  grace, 

Have  settled  down  to  brood  in  the  dear  face 

That  lightens  by  me,  fair  and  privet-pale, 

Soft  in  the  shadow  of  the  bridal  veil : 

The  sunny  sparkle  of  Southern  radiance 

That  in  her  English  blood  doth  bicker  and  dance, 

Hath  steadied  to  the  still  and  sacred  glow 

Which  hath  more  inner  life  than  outer  show. 

So  many  are  the  mishaps  and  the  griefs 

In  marriage,  like  Beau  Brummel's  Neckerchiefs ; 

Armfuls  of  failure  for  one  perfect  tie ! 

And  have  we  hit  it  ?  do  you  say  or  sigh. 

Time  was  when  life  in  triumph  would  have  run, 

And  faster  than  the  fields  catch  fire  o'  the  sun, 

Or  light  takes  shape  and  feature  in  the  flowers/ 

My  answer  would  have  blossomed  with  the  hours. 

I  should  have  felt  the  buds  begin  to  blow 

With  my  love-warmth,  another  dawn  to  glow ; 


A  POETS  LOVE-LETTER.  371 

Heard  all  the  bells  in  heaven  ring  quite  plain 
Because  young  blood  went  singing  through  my 

brain : 

Like  vernal  impulses  the  verses  came ; 
My  soul  on  tiptoe  and  my  words  aflame. 
I  should  have  sung  that  we  had  reached  the  land 
Where  milk  and  honey  flow  o'er  golden  sand, 
And  that  far  El  Dorado  we  had  found 
Where  nothing  less  than  nuggets  glad  the  ground. 
But  't  is  no  more  the  lyric  life  of  youth, 
When  fancy  seemed  truer  than  all  truth, 
And  standing  in  that  dawn,  the  sun  of  love 
Hung  dewy  rainbows  on  each  web  we  wove, 
And  to  the  leap  o'  the  blood  we  felt  it  given 
To  scale  the  tallest  battlements  of  heaven  ; 
Poor  was  the  prize  of  wisdom's  proudest  dower 
Beside  that  glory  of  the  flesh  in  flower ! 

And  now  I  cannot  sing  my  Ladye's  praise, 
Lark-like,  as  in  the  morning  of  those  days 
When  at  a  touch  the  song  would  upward  start, 
And,  half  in  heaven,  empty  all  the  heart. 
'T  is  August  with  me  now  and  harvest-heat, 
And  in  the  nest  the  silence  is  so  sweet ; 
Moreover,  love  is  such  a  bosom  thing, 
In  words  its  nestling  nearnesses  take  wing ; 
Nor  flower  of  speech  could  ever  yet  express 
The  married  sweetness  or  the  homeliness ; 


372  A  POET'S  LOVE-LETTER. 

We  cannot  fable  the  ineffable ; 
The  tongue  is  tied  too,  with  the  heart  at  full : 
Music  may  hint  it  with  her  latest  breath, 
But  fails  ; : —  her  heaven  is  only  reached  through 
Death. 


The  stirring  of  the  sap  in  bole  and  bough  — 
Mere  feeling  —  will  not  set  me  singing  now  ! 
I  thank  my  "God  for  all  that  he  hath  given 
And  ope  the  windows  of  my  soul  to  heaven ; 
I  think,  in  bowed  and  very  humble  mood, 
I  must  be  better,  He  hath  been  so  good. 
So  would  I  journey  to  the  land  above, 
Clothed  with  humility  and  crowned  with  love. 

I  look  no  more  Without,  and  think  to  win 
The  treasures  that  are  only  found  Within ; 
And,  after  many  years,  have  grown  too  wise 
To  search  our  world  for  some  lost  paradise ; 
Or  feel  unhappy  should  we  chance  to  miss 
The  next  life's  possibilities  in  this. 
'T  is  here  we  follow — but  hereafter  find 
The  goal  all-golden  miraged  in  the  mind. 
That  Age  of  Gold  behind  us,  and  the  Isles 
Where  dwelt  the  Blessed  are  but  as  the  smiles 
Reflected  from  a  heaven  that  onward  lies, 
The  Gold  of  sundown  caught  in  orient  skies. 


A  POET'S  LOVE-LETTER.  373 

And  yet,  if  any  bit  of  Eden  bloom 

In  this  old  world,  't  is  in  the  WEDDED  HOME 

And,  what  a  wonder-world  of  novel  life 

Do  these  two  range  through,  hand-in-hand,  as  Wife 

And  Husband  ;  in  one  flesh  two  spirits  paired ; 

Their  joys  all  doubled,  all  their  sorrows  shared  : 

Two  spirits  blending  in  one  heavenward  spire, 

That  soars  up  fragrant  from  an  altar  fire ; 

Two  halves  in  one  perfection  wed  to  prove 

The  shaped  Idea  of  immortal  love  ! 

We  cannot  see  Love  with  our  mortal  sight, 
But  lo  !  the  singing  Angels  come  some  night 
To  bring  His  tiny  image  in  the  Child 
Wherewith  from  out  the  darkness  He  hath  smiled  ; 
The  tender  voice  whereby  the  All-loving  breaks 
His  silence,  and  in  human  fashion  speaks  ; 
The  gentle  hand  put  forth  to  draw  us  near 
The  heart  of  life  whose  pulse  is  beating  here. 
Though  seldom  do  we  guess,  so  dim  our  eyes, 
That  God  comes  down  in  such  a  simple  guise, 
And  yet  of  such  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  is ; 
Through  them  the  next  world  is  revealed  in  this  1 

And  how  they  come  to  us  to  bring  us  back 
What  we  have  lost  along  the  dusty  track  : 
The  sweetness  of  the  dawn,  the  early  dew, 
And  tender  green,  and  heaven's  unclouded  blue  ; 


374  A  POET'S  LOVE-LETTER. 

The  treasures  that  we  dropped  upon  the  ground, 
And  they,  in  following  after  us,  have  found ! 

Ah,  Love,  my  life  is  not  so  bare  of  leaf 

But  we  can  find  a  nest  for  shelter  if 

The  bounteous  heavens  should  bless  us  from  above 

And  in  our  branches  cradle  some  wee  dove. 

Nor  will  my  darling  lack  a  touch  still  warm 

To  finish  that  fine  sculpture  of  her  form  ; 

For  if  Love  dwell  in  me,  the  Angel-Elf 

Shall  kiss  her  to  some  likeness  of  himself. 

At  the  hill-top  I  reach  my  resting-place, 

To  find  clear  heaven  and  feel  it  face  to  face ; 

Firm  footing  after  all  the  weary  slips, 

To  hold  the  cup  unshaken  at  the  lips. 

The  meaning  of  my  life  grows  clear  at  last, 

And  all  my  troubles  smile  back  now  they  're  past : 

The  clouds  put  on  a  glory  to  mine  eyes, 

My  sorrows  were  my  Saviour  in  disguise  : 

And  I  have  walked  with  angels  unawares, 

And  upward  mounted,  climbing  over  cares, 

A  little  nearer  to  the  home  above. 

Here  let  me  rest  in  the  good  Father's  love 

Embodied  in  these  arms  embracing  me, 

Serenely  as  the  sea-flowers  in  deep  sea. 

'T  is  true,  just  as  we  feel  our  foreheads  crowned, 
And  all  so  glorious  grows  the  prospect  round, 


A  POETS  LOVE-LETTER.          375 

It  seems  one  stride  might  launch  us  on  heaven's 

wave, 

Thenceforth  our  steps  go  downward  to  the  grave. 
What  then  !     I  would  not  rest  till  spirit  rust, 
And  I  am  undistinguishable  dust : 
And  if  Love  bring  no  second  spring  to  me, 
This  is  the  fore-feel  of  a  spring  to  be  ; 
If  no  new  Dawn,  yet  in  the  evening  hours, 
Freshly  bedewed,  more  sweetly  smelt  the  flowers ; 
And  round  my  path  the  glow  of  love  hath  made 
Gentle  illumination  for  the  shade. 

Something,  dear  Lord,  thou  hast  for  me  to  say, 
Or  wherefore  draw  me  toward  the  springs  of  day, 
And  make  my  face  with  happiness  to  shine 
By  softly  placing  this  dear  hand  in  mine 
Even  while  I  stretch  it  to  Thee  through  the  dark  : 
A  something  that  shall  shine  aloft  and  mark 
Thy  goodness  and  my  gratitude  upon 
This  Mount  Transfiguration  when  I  'm  gone  ? 
If  thou  hast  set  my  foot  on  firmer  ground, 
Lord,  let  me  show  what  helper  I  have  found ; 
If  Thou  hast  touched  me  with  thy  loftier  light, 
Lord,  let  me  turn  to  those  that  walk  in  night 
And  climb  with  more  at  heart  than  they  can  bear, 
Though  but  a  twinkle  through  their  cloud  of  care. 
Only  a  grain  of  sand  my  life  may  be, 
But  let  it  sparkle,  Lord,  with  light  of  Thee ! 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  744  992     9 


'Brooklyn   Eagle: 

,elri  mo1  find  the  poem  w 


J,    martyrdom    to-da.y 
ory    to-morrow"? 

PELO. 
the      lines 
Gerald 


Answer  —  The    poem    in    which 
quoted  by   "Pelo"   occur   is   one  by 
Massey,    an    English    poet,    and    its    title    is 
"To-morrow."     The   poem   is  as  follows: 


High  hopes  that  burned  like  stars  sublime 

Go   down   the  heavens  of   freedom, 
And   true    hearts  perish    in   the   time 

We    bitterestly    need    them. 
But  never  sit   we  down  and  say 

There's  nothing  left  but  sorrow: 
We   walk   the    wilderness   to-day. 

The   promised    land   to-morrow. 

Our  birds   of  song  are   silent   now. 
There    art     no    flowers    blooming. 
Hut.   life   beats  in   the   fro/en    bough 
\nd    I'Veedom'K   spring   is   coming. 
And   Freedom's   tide    comes   un   alv. 
Though   we   may   stran .1    in   sorrow; 

,'.ind  to-day 
Shall   float  again   to-morrow. 

Our  hearts  brood  o'er  the  past,   and  eyes 

atures   glisten. 
Lo.   now  the  dawn  bursts  up  the  skies'. 

Lean    out   your   souls  and    listen. 
The   earth   rolls   freedom's  radiant   way 

And   ripens  with  our  s<iirow, 

And    'tis    the    martyrdom   to-day 

•.s  victory    to-mon-u.v. 

'Tis    we'iry    watching    wave   by   wave — 
And  yet  tl"  s  onward. 

imb,    like  corals,   grave  on   grave, 

sunward. 

We're  bt-rtten  back  in  many  a  fray 
Yet   never  strength   we'll    bo, 

our  vanguard   camps  to-day 
Our   rear  shall   march   to-morrow. 

Through  all  the  long  dark  night  of 
The    people 

!   and   tears 

Kre    thejr    meek   sufferings    ended. 
The    few   shall    not    forever   sway, 
The  many   toil   in   sorrow; 

•iell  are  strong  to-day, 
But   Christ   shall  reign   to-morrow. 

Then   youth-flame   earnest   shall    &e 

With    energies   immortal, 
To   many  a  haven  of  dei 

Your  .  Mirtal. 

And   though   a| 

• 
And    harvest   conies   to-morrow. 


